Like Water
by Onyxx-09
Summary: It's been five months since the fall of Apocalypse; three since Scott tried to make a fool of him at the theatre, since Peter saw his ex and the kiss shared in the park followed by a bittersweet goodbye. Three months of no contact because of the X-Men—because she promised herself that she wouldn't, couldn't repeat the past again. "Sometimes things deserve second chances." Peter/OC.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Ok so this is a sort of sequel to Muscle Memory. You don't have to read the first if you don't want to. In this one here there may be a short something with smut at the end. This takes place after Muscle Memory, maybe a month**_ ** _later, three months after the end of X-Men Apocalypse._**

* * *

It's the mid-1980s. Platinum miniskirts are in style, as well as shoulder pads and Ray-Bans, lace, and Miami Vice. U2, Michael Jackson, and Eurythmics played on the radio, teens dancing to it on waxed skate floors and blasting it on their way to the beach in '86 AMG Hammer. Films such as _Beverly Hills Cop_ and _Ghostbusters_ have already hit the theaters. But sadly, it is going to take a while for it to be bought for home on chunky, black VHS tapes just centimeters smaller than a dinner plate.

There is a video cassette rental store on the West side of town, the second most popular one in the county, in fact—second only because they didn't carry television shows on tape. A wide variety of films on video cassettes and video games were all that are available for rent seven days a week, from seven a.m. to three a.m.

The store is quite popular among adolescents too—mainly for the games and those trying to sneak the X-rated ones shelved in the back corner. There are eleven employees working total,the number working half of the day. One of them happen to be Pietro Maximoff, Peter for short, some motor-mouthed nerd from Winchester, New York, apparently. He's gotten the a word put in for him by Trevelyn, a past teacher of Peter's. The mutant had this job for a while and has recently risen to second assistant manager. But he isn't _too_ fond of his boss, the man not being the most _diligent_ and has a collection of unflattering nicknames coined by his employees, some Peter has contributed to generously.

Peter acquired this job after realizing that he couldn't travel the world forever, that finances were _quite_ important in this factor, and to help a little to support Marya, his aunt and practical substitute mother. His plans were put on hold, however, after getting caught up in an end-of-the-world battle and having to wear a leg cast for 2.5 months as a result.

The television screen always reads "Please rewind the tape before removing from machine" behind blinking static after the rented film ends.

Whenever a new customer comes into the rental store, if the checkout guy, Nero, isn't flirting and cracking jokes, you bet Peter is. The two were in a constant competition of who could pick up the most women. Usually, it ends nowhere—there's giggling, jokes about how "pretty girls shouldn't be watching a film like this alone. If you need a shoulder to cry on..." and many other terrible pickup lines. Sometimes it leads to an eye roll, a scoff, an "as if!" Twice, Nero had scored a real, physical date. That was another task—of who can get the most dates or phone numbers—and currently it's a tie.

Things were going well for the little video store. There's a small rush of high school students that come in around two in the afternoon on weekdays. At least once every two weeks, someone has to stop an adolescent from trying to sneak an X-rated film, or a parent clueless about what to chose for their children. Sometimes the employees would all take one small bag of snack to munch on the job. And whoever had to close the store at the end of the night would lock up and head home, the whole thing resuming the next day.

It's been three months after En Sabah Nur was eradicated, and two months since Xavier's gifted school was reopened. With everything back to normal, there seems nothing could happen out of place.

It _seems_.

* * *

Sherry leans over the armrest and dusts her hand across the surface of the side table. It had been dusted no doubly hours before, her guests' arrival much anticipated three days ago. She takes a tissue from the Kleenex box on the coffee table and hands it to her sickly apartment-mate.

Beside her, Sherry's friend sniffs, wrinkles her nose. The other holds up a hand, telling that she didn't need the tissue. She sniffs again.

Sherry hisses a whisper: "you're face is turning _red_. Rainy, just take it!"

Still, Rainy is stubborn.

Sherry shoves the tissue in her friend's hands just as her face scrunches up for another sneeze. Rainy is reluctant to murmur "thank you" into the tissue and blows. There's sanitizer on the coffee table too that she uses.

"I told you," Sherry whispers in time as her mother exits from the kitchen carrying a dinner plate of fruit and Ritz crackers, and sets it on the simple wooden coffee table in front of the two. She asks if Rainy would like a cough drop, and Rainy refuses that as well.

"I'm fine. It's going away on its own," she hopes.

Sherry side-eyes her friend, completely unconvinced—Rainy had been giving that same excuse for the past week.

Sherry's parents had come over for to visit for the short break. Unfortunately, it coincidentally fell on the week that Rainy came down with an bad cold. Sherry's mother, Mrs. Addams, had waved it off, telling that she hasn't been sick in years.

Mrs. Addams is such a cheery woman, and much more reposed than Rainy's own—and it is clear where Sherry inherits her active social skills and red hair, and is an opposite from her reticent husband—and Mrs. Addams would rather stuff you to the brim with cinnamon rolls and horderves if you're a guests. In fact, she had almost done so to Rainy once...

Rainy declines the serving plate but Mrs. Addams insists. Rainy sniffs; she insists that she's fine and hasn't had much of an appetite lately. Sherry looks off to a random corner in the ceiling—she isn't going to be much help convincing. Then, Rainy doesn't even fake a smile, caving in, and takes a handful of wrinkling green grapes, turning her nose—she prefers the red ones anyway. She forces out another "thank you" and was one to please the older woman.

Rainy finds it nauseating.

"So we were saying," Mrs. Addams start but then pauses. "Rainy, dear, are you _sure_ you don't want some cold medicine? Or _something_? You look _miserable_."

The other is as stubborn as an ox at times. Most times. Rainy shakes her head _no_ yet again, and shivers.

"Well, ok, dear..." Mrs. Addams doesn't look convinced. Her husband is out for the afternoon, Sherry having introduced him to a nice cigar bar. Mrs. Addams flops unto the single chair diagonally from her daughter's. The television plays a rerun of a game of Jeopardy. "So..." Mrs. Addams crosses her ankles. Her socks are white, slightly visible under her hugging bell-bottom denim jeans. Mrs. Addams is looking straight at her daughter now. "How's you and Henry? Continuing steady, I hope? He seemed like a nice guy, I liked him..."

And Sherry _drops_ her plate on the side table she had been leaning over. She closes her eyes for a moment, pursing her lips. " _Mom_...please don't."

Mrs. Addams looks shocked. "What? Henry is a very nice gentleman. He's very _well-mannered_."

"God, Mom..."

" _Attractive_ too."

" _Mom!_ "

" _What_?"

"Can you...can we _not_ talk about Henry? Or anyone I might have dated really, please, for a while?"

The contestant on screen solves the puzzle and the applause track plays. Rainy snorts, sneezes into the tissue. There's a bulging binder notebook open in her lap that she underlines throughout. It's been open for the last two weeks.

Sherry's mother looks sightly taken aback. "Oh," and she sighs. She's slightly disappointed, yes, given her only child is not married _still_ , but she guess she understood. And Rainy isn't going to reveal that Henry has been Sherry's ex for almost two months now. Both ending under very...messy circumstances.

There isn't much talking in the living room following after. The ambience of the television fills the silence. Rainy goes to the bathroom once, and in there she wonders if makeup will hide her sickly symptoms—it won't—and her reddening nose. She remembers that jar of VaporRub in her top dresser drawer. Out in the living room, Sherry's mother asks in a whisper how long Sherry and Henry have been apart. Sherry mumbles, defeated, "a couple months." Her mother is surprised.

When Rainy returns, Mrs. Addams then begins telling about a social club she goes to, and the hissy fit a trio of well-to-do women pulled. She asks how life has been for the two women. Sherry shrugs. Rainy wishes to excuse herself to work on paperwork. Mrs. Addams gives the same excuse Sherry had days ago—"it's a school break! _Why_ are you working?"

Rainy hadn't listened to Sherry either, giving a pitiful excuse about not slacking. At first, she thinks Mrs. Addams isn't going to allow her to leave. "You can do that later," Rainy knows she is going to say. "Stay out here with us. We're practically family. I've missed you." And the older woman would smile and slap her hand on Rainy's knee. Though this time, Sherry _actually_ provided help against her mother.

Sherry interrupts and insists that the work is very important and due in a few days. It's a lie. And only after Rainy excuses herself to her bedroom, Sherry admits it. "It's busy work."

"Who gives themselves busy work?!"

Sherry rolls her eyes. "That remark you said earlier about breakups, Mom? Well..." Sherry breaths in. "Rainy's the one who's dealing with something like that."

And her mother's mouth falls open. "I...had no idea..." She's turns fully toward her daughter, already eager to hear all the details, just like Sherry would.

And her daughter can tell this all too late. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you..." She eyes her mother.

"No, no," she waves her hand in dismissal and smiles. "Tell me, tell me! Who is he? Is he cute? Is he _handsome_ too? I know you have good taste so I'm sure it rubbed off on Rainy. Does he beat _Henry_?"

Sherry grimaces at the accusation of her having good taste in men—she can never tell her mother about some of her past one night stands. She doesn't _want_ to tell her mother anything of this subject. This wasn't exactly her place to say also, and she doesn't want to open a can of worms. And knowing how...critical her mother can be over suitors, doesn't want to give Rainy something else to worry about. But...

Sherry is just as bad a gossip as her mother, albeit less.

"Look, Mom, don't make this a big deal. I'm not sure I should be telling you any of this anyway..." She takes an extensive breath. "They knew each other back in high school, and they were close. And they didn't leave on the best terms and on mixed communication. We ran into him a few months back and it—-"

"Close, or like, _close_?" her mother asks, such a circulator.

" _Close_."

"Or close, like, _together_?"

Sherry purses her lips.

"Poor girl..." Mrs. Addams muses.

"Yeah."

On the television Jeopardy approaches the end of the final round.

"Well he wasn't a _bad_ guy, just..." Sherry muses, her mother speaking that was good. "He was nice, just... _interesting_."

They watch the second contestant rise from third place to second on the game show, the first place contestant dropping behind. Inside her bedroom, Rainy spreads out papers and case files and bites the end of her pencil at she reaches out for a paper packet and then gives an ugly sneeze. She has a slight headache and a thermometer in her mouth.

Back in the living room, Sherry waits until the Final Jeopardy jingle to turn and speak. "Hey, mom? Say, theoretically of course, how would _you_ help someone get over an ex? If you're not sure how to get them back together?"

"Well I would get a few socks and bottles of wine, and lock them inside a room to talk it—-"

"Mom we're not locking anyone in a room!"

* * *

It's just became three months that Rainy vowed to never return to the mall with the theatre there and to take walks near a park. She had been going about just fine before, and now...

Routinely, she and Sherry would work, come back to their small two-bedroom apartment, and on free weekends they would probably go to that fitness class where Sherry would drool over the yoga instructor. Sometimes they went out. Sometimes Sherry brought a guy home, someone from a nightly outing or a new beau. She seems to have wracked up a number of those. And it's a constant joke thrown back and forth.

But Rainy has been talking to someone at her job, and he seems nice, tall, dark, and has a nice smile...

But that was before vowing to never return to the mall; that was before running into someone she never expected to see again, no matter how many times she had wished in the past.

But that had been when she was younger...but still

Rainy ran into Peter at the mall three months ago. He had been surrounded by others who were probably four or five years younger. He had been in a leg cast. And it hadn't gone smoothly—he had looked quite terrified, and in a brown leather coat, she remembers. She had felt her veins ice over and her stomach twist in a way that hasn't happened in years. And she had made a mistake—a deadly mistake, she feared—yeah, she most definitely remembers that too.

She had probably, _most definitely_ made a mistake.

And she hasn't spoken about it since. Obviously, Sherry knows. In fact, she had even _encouraged_ and planned a rekindling along with Wanda but...

Rainy had laughed bitterly and stated that life wouldn't be that generous. And before she knew it, work had started again and her schedule filled up and he disappeared again. Rainy continued to be in denial, always saying that those feelings had died when she had been forced to move away by her disappointed parents, when she would curl her arms around her pillow and wish it had been him just like all those nights ago.

To your face, Rainy would deny her feelings like she always does and puts up a poise, impassive exterior. That's why it had taken a burst of courage for Calvin Morris to ask her out for coffee one afternoon towards the end of his lunch break. And also, luck would have it for her to get _sick_ on the one day she could finally have time to finish paperwork.

Sometimes, she begins to wonder if she should take up Calvin's invite for a second coffee date. But his chatter is dry and she thinks she picks up a hint of _tobacco_ because her nose always scrunches near him. He provides a good pastime, a good distraction, and so she kept him around, taking a chance.

Rainy leans her forehead against the car window, the cool glass comforting. Inside, the radio is playing Madonna.

Sherry glances from the road ahead. "What are you thinking about?" She used to ask this often three months ago.

Rainy gives a small shrug. The car drives over a speed bump and she winces, forehead bouncing on the glass. "Just...whether I should take Calvin up on that second coffee date."

Sherry's nose turns up, much to Rainy's amusement. "I still hate that name. Sounds so douchebag-y." She steals another glance at her friend. Rainy is in a pair of comfy pants and a t-shirt that has the Mountain Dew soda logo. "I didn't know there's a second date!" Sherry sounds excited at first. "Are you sure you want to go do that...?"

"If it has to come down to it." Rainy's answer is ready a beat later. "Why?"

"No reason."

Sherry's parents are staying for the next three days, so, a family night was proposed. Mrs. Addams and her husband are off buying dinner and seeing a movie together, so Sherry dragged her friend along to make an ice-cream run. They had three hours, maybe two and a half if they made it home in time. Rainy's sickness has begun to lessen, so she has little excuse to not finally get out the house—and Sherry's persistence on "who gives themselves meaningless busy work? Rainy stop being crazy, please!" and that the other needs to _relax_ and _calm down_. And Rainy had already called into work, so she really had little reason.

Well, the mission during their maybe-two and a half window is to drive up to that grocery store that sold the ice-cream they both liked. As they pulled into the parking lot, Sherry obviously energized, catches sight of a video rental store nearby and forms an added agenda. Of course, Rainy is directed there instead of following into the grocery store. Sherry reiterates how, if even 0.2 seconds is wasted they wouldn't have enough time to finish the movie, and that she knows Rainy's ice-cream choice on her own.

Rainy sneezes. Sherry rushes instead. Rainy doesn't like it, but she wraps her arms around herself before stepping inside the video store anyway, and doesn't know if it's a good thing or not that she still isn't able to smell much from her nose. Inside, the carpet is an 80s style dark gray-purple mix, and there are shelves and shelves of videocassettes. She shivers in a chill once more, not exactly sure to start, and wishes she had brought a sweater. To her relief, an employee, a cute brunette woman, approaches and offers help.

She thinks that a suspense/thriller is a best option. The woman states that is her favorite genre too.

Rainy squeezes her arms tighter around herself and forces a smile. It falls almost immediately though, because another employee emerges from the maze of shelves, looking down at a video case in his hand and thumps it with the back of his hand. Peter is going off about it and not finding it's place-hold in the back, and when he looks up—

When he looks up, it's as if everything just _stops_.

Inside, the air conditioning is already too high for Rainy's liking, and now it feels as if she is surrounded in ice.

Peter blinks, and then his eyes grow _wide_. He stops mid-sentence, with one foot a quarter in the air.

The brunette employee looks between the two once. Rainy finally moves, inhaling slowly. _No, not again_ , she worries. There'd already been one inconvenience, and this is supposed to be the _city_ of _New York_ where there's no chance for it to happen again! And she starts considering if she should move more inward the city. But, then again...

"Um..."

She worries too much and jumps to conclusion.

Peter clears his throat, head dipping just the slightest. Rainy avoids his direction, her chin high, and doesn't see his double glances as he approach and hands the video case to his fellow employee. Rainy hears that his tone drops as he talks, opposed to mere moments ago.

The brunette employee doesn't seem to suspect anything, replies and is ordered to pull three possible video games from the shelf. Peter leaves. She directs Rainy to follow without another blink. Rainy is shown two bookcases of films categorized under suspense and thriller. The other woman is rambling off about new releases and her favorite choices. Rainy anxiously glances over her shoulder. She pulls on the collar of her large t-shirt. Eventually, she asks for the other's opinion for a choice instead, explaining that she's in a rush. She's handed a recommended film from the row over, and when the woman walks away Rainy finally is able to think clearly, squats down, and her hand hovers over one with a picture of an alien with an elongated neck on the cover.

She eventually decides on the film that the woman recommended before.

Sherry is going to be pacing on the sidewalk outside any minute now, Rainy thinks. She weighs the video case in her hands.

This video rental shop has been receiving quite a steady amount of business since it's opening three years ago. Some would call it the most popular rental store in the county. Rainy knew that most teens and children would go toward the other _number one_ store because of the video game cartridges and candy there. She's only come maybe five times before, most in the dead of night and sometime in the early hours of the morning because she either needed something to accompany her sub sandwich bought next door, or something to put her to sleep and drown out the noises of Sherry's frequent coupling. It is a nice store too—convenient, the rental fee isn't too high, and the maze of shelves aren't too confusing. But this is the first time she's wanted to sprint out the doors and stay away from a place _so much_ while simultaneously wanting to remain for eternity.

Rainy's grip on the video case tightens and then loosens as she gives a heavy, mournful sigh. Synonyms of _useless_ and _lost of time_ and an overwhelming feeling of doubt fill her mind. She gives one last look around before navigating—and failing once because she's rushing—her way back to the front of the store, but finds it vacant. There's a bell that is labeled "RING ONCE" and she begins questioning their service here; a large clock hangs on the wall above and she wouldn't doubt that Sherry is out by her car now.

It takes two rings until Rainy hears someone hurrying over from the back of the store. She happens to be fumbling through her small pocket book for money, so when she looks up her stomach drops to her feet seeing Peter approaching and his steps falter as well. An "oh fuck" response almost slips from both of them. Neither can make direct eye contact.

OF COURSE

 _Of course_ it would be him to run over and answer the bell.

Rainy pushes hair behind her ear. She finds the loose string in the lining of her pant's pocket very interesting. He shuffles to the computer behind the counter, punches a few buttons. The receipt machine sounds and he rips out the unneeded end and tosses it in a bin beneath the counter. She doesn't see him observe the hair-clip holding down a stray curl, the ball of her palm rubbing against her high cheekbone, her eyes still cast at the carpet. The locked video case is under her other arm.

His head is still bowed and his fingers dance in the air about the computer's keys. "Um." His light brows draw together. His chest puffs. "What's it you wanna rent?"

Rainy attention snaps forward, her eyes meeting his and then avoiding a millisecond after before silently extending the video case forward. She doesn't miss the slight wrinkle of his nose as he reads the cover—and did he just _chuckle?!_

Rainy frowns, eyeing him. She sees him wave the case in the air absentmindedly as he types. He bites his lip; she takes in a wary breath.

"I thought you had gone back to Sherbrooke."

When he looks up in response, she adverts her gaze almost sheepishly. He mumbles out his reply with a shrug. "I did. Visited. I'm kinda...kinda in between places right now, you know?"

"Oh. Yeah." Silence. Then, "how's your leg? ...Because it obviously was a fracture bad enough to warrant a cast..." Her tone is still low, neither looking at each other directly. And she catches glances of the assistant manager vest he's wearing, the hint of stubble beginning to grow.

"It healed. Pretty quickly, of course."

"Well that's good..." She tries to smile. It doesn't happen and looks away.

He steals another glance from over the counter when she grins. Peter presses the red cancellation button and restarts the entire process. "Um..."

And she watches, her chin rising in curiosity to see. After what feels like minutes—but is actually a handful of seconds—she continues: "trouble?"

He scoffs, tells that he "got this," and presses the cancellation button again, not revealing that he actually _forgot_ the password twice. "I do this all the time," he grins, trying to appear confident.

"That color suits you," she comments about his vest.

"I think it makes me look fat."

Rainy's chuckle is minimal and hesitant. "I think that's quite impossible."

Another silence. His eyes dart up once more, seeing her twirl a curl around a finger, still looking off to the side. "I'm, uh, gonna need your license. A-and your membership card." He watches her hurriedly retrieve both and they only look at each other when she extends her hand. "Thanks."

She watches him punch a button and scan her membership card before handing both back.

"Will that be all ma'am?" he sighs, leaning with his palms on the counter. When Rainy is about to reply, he continues, unintentionally interrupting. "Are you sick? Your nose is red...you know there's a store right next door where you can get medicine?"

She barely glances up as she responds with a hasty, false, "I'm fine!"

Peter frowns, seeing right through her lie and noticing her tired eyes. "You don't look fine. ...I mean you _do_ but that's not what I meant!" He doesn't save himself in time and Rainy gives him a look that he can't entirely interpret.

She licks her lips instead of responding. She's in a large t-shirt and without makeup or taming her hair...

He waves the movie in the air, reading the title slowly and grins. "So, _National Lampoon's European Vacation_ , huh?"He looks down at her. "I thought you were the action and thriller type?"

"I still am. You should have known that, Maximoff, or I guess you must have really forgotten that detail?"

He smirks. "No, not really forgotten—-" He realizes his words too late, and clamps his lips shuts.

Rainy's eyes widen. She sniffs. "It's for a friend by the way. It's movie night." She runs a fingernail down the spine of the case. "Sherry—you remember?"

He nods, says that he does. Peter asks if she would like a bag—which she accepts—and slips the video and the receipt inside. He watches her peek inside, jiggling the small plastic bag. Before she leaves for the door, she swears that there had been a small gust of air but shrugs it off to being an a/c vent she must have walked under, and seeing that Peter is hunched over the counter still.

Sherry is indeed pacing impatiently by her small car when Rainy arrives. The strawberry blonde throws her arms up in the air criticizing Rainy for her poor time management. Sherry too is dressed in lazy clothes.

* * *

It isn't until they women are waiting for the beginning credits of the film to end that Sherry remembers to hand a piece of paper from inside the bag to Rainy. She has to put down her small tub of ice-cream as she reads over the handwriting again, and again, and three times. It's a short note scrubbed on the back of an unused folded receipt. Sherry asks if it had been hers, and Rainy can only shake her head. She doesn't know quite what to say—and she realizes that it had definitely _not_ been a gust of air from a vent earlier.

"Then what is it?" Sherry asks.

Rainy doesn't give an answer.

They don't get to finish their movie that night.

* * *

Two days later, Sherry's parents are readying to leave. And the four watched the film every night since, loss fifteen matches total of Checkers, and Rainy's sickness steadily worsened. Mrs. Addams is anxious over Rainy and her husband is determined to keep the top score in their Checkers competition—two games which he lost because of beer breaks.

And when Sherry returns to the video rental store two nights later, she too falters her steps as she catches Peter and a brunette playing rock-paper-scissors behind the checkout/rental counter. And of course, she gives that telltale grin of hers, and a "long time no see, silver lining."

He isn't as hesitant with Sherry's return, but he does ask how long she is staying in town, whether it is for the next few days or hours. He seems antsy.

"Oh, no, I live here. I have an apartment with Rainy. You know, Rainy from _the mall_ where you nearly combusted?"

He rolls his eyes.

On the Addams; final day, Mrs. Addams offers to cook dinner—which Sherry turns down because time—or at do least lunch which Sherry help with. Rainy has been bedridden for two days. In the middle of making a hearty lunch, Mrs. Addams goes to answer a knock at the door. Sherry calls over her shoulder asking who it is.

Mrs. Addams returns, puzzled. "No one. But there was this can of soup on the mat...?"

Sherry is confused. The label reads Campbell's Meatball Alphabet Soup. She's pretty sure that it is Rainy's favorite soup but isn't sure because the last time it has been mentioned is a few years before. It rolls off over Sherry's shoulder until it happens again for three days straight, always around eight at night. By this time, she's pieced it together, remembering the only person who could know the soup from years ago is who she unintentionally blabbered to at the video store that Rainy is sick and where they live.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days after Sherry's parents leave, the cans of soup stop coming.

They had been increasing from arriving exclusively at nightfall to one being on the doormat alongside the morning paper, sometimes one in the late afternoon or around dinnertime. Sherry tried running to the door when it would ring. She tried standing by it, waiting for the doorbell and catch the perpetrator in the act. It never happened, however—she isn't fast enough. But she knew that Rainy was grateful for the can delivered, and spoke so as her health returned. Sherry would warm the soup on the stove for her friend who would be wrapped up in a blanket, hair a mess and croaky voice, shivering, and three boxes of facial tissues around her on bed. Sherry doesn't tell who was likely leaving them for her.

But when the cans stopped appearing on their doorstep, Sherry has to drive to the store for more and to continue the act. Partially, she didn't want to reveal her speculation to her friend about who was likely dropping them by every other hour; partially she wants Rainy's mind to remain at ease—however little that was.

And Sherry could tell that _something_ had gone down at that video store when Rainy rented that movie. She had been so quiet on the car ride back then, seeming a tad antsy and a lot distracted. She asked on many occasion the return date for the video, and Sherry would answer with increasing suspicion that it isn't for another five days.

But now those five days are up, and Sherry raps her fingernails against the leather of the steering wheel on her way back to their shared apartment as she tries to decide whether to tell Rainy this tiny detail or not. Still she debates about the soups or not.

Well, now she knows what had taken Rainy so long at the video rental store before.

And Sherry knows the story— _god_ , she had _been there_ for some of it—so she knew how close the two had been and seen how _heartbroken_ Rainy had been when her judgmental parents shipped her to the other side of the East coast. But the issue was not _them_ , per se—Rainy had moved on these years following, had a handful of lovers in the past, but then _the mall_ happened, and now _this_. And sure, Sherry wanted the two to rekindle their flame because there had been some type of _promising_ in their stares when re-meeting, something that reminded Sherry of their high school selves—but she remembers what her mother said, about the need to stop instigating and to "drink your own tea."

There hadn't been any secrets between Sherry and Rainy—that is, if you don't count that one time she told Rainy she was coming back home when really she was still at those two guys' place doing a line of coke—which she doesn't _ever_ do again, by the way. But besides that, there were no secrets between the two, _ever_.

But _this_ —whatever Rainy's attitude is—it isn't truthful, and Sherry knows it.

When Sherry returns home late that afternoon, she calls out for Rainy, deciding to tell her about her own suspicions. The other is found with her legs folded beneath, looking through another manilla folder and there's a pen between her teeth, the small television's volume is down low as she sifts through paperwork. It's a Wednesday night and Rainy had been kept in the office all day at work. Sherry unfortunately hadn't had a better day either besides finding a twenty dollar bill on the floor of an elevator.

By now, Rainy's sickness had lessened to sniffles. She pouts, "sounds like yours was a _lot_ better than mine." She glances up once at her friend's arrival, and who's standing in her bedroom doorway. Rainy has been trying to get approval to work on one of the few legal cases floating around, but no one wanted to give a woman the reigns, and she's been considering switching firms.

"Ah that's not true. There must be _some_ positive. Um... What about Calvin? The coffee guy?"

Calvin is Rainy's colleague whom she had gone on three coffee dates with (all without her emotional investment, however) and who has been trying to invite her on a night out. Rainy turns him down every time, a new excuse each time, sometimes an honest lie. "My friend's car broke down and I have to be available all hours," she has told before. Or, "I have a doctor's appointment on that day." Or there was the "stomach flu" excuse, "financial issues," and "family coming over." Even "a squirrel came in through the window" lie worked on him. And frankly, Rainy is un-amused and un-attracted.

"What about Calvin?"

Sherry blinks, not exactly shocked. " _What about Calvin_? You had just been considering going out with him a few weeks ago..."

Rainy feigns aloof. "Oh, was I?"

Sherry disappears down the short hall to her own room. Reappearing a few minutes later in a sultry lace nightie, she flops across Rainy's comforters, tossing a wad of clothing at the other. "Sooo," she starts, "how was work?" She speaks in a singsong tone, arms splaying across the comforters in a cat-like stretch.

Rainy's response is that it was _mundane as usual_. The other watches in amusement as Rainy unfurls the wad of silk tossed at her, discovering it's another nightie. "Sherry...what is this?"

"I got it on sale. Two for one! They're cute, right?" She props up on an elbow, posing, a hand on her hip.

Rainy is deadpanned. She doesn't quite know how to respond.

"Don't hold it like that! I was trying to be nice since your last one was torn to shreds. I know it isn't like the blue one that was your favorite, okay? Plus, you've been married to your work, you need to be prepared." Her eyebrows wiggle and she smirks. "You're slacking off. It's been awhile since you've met a guy that could could give good—-"

" _Okay_ , Sherry! Thank you! Don't need you covering my whole sex life."

The strawberry blonde is quite proud of herself indeed, and snickers. "Oh don't be like that," Sherry nudges the other playfully.

It's true that Rainy had been more diligent about her studies in college and her work now, more than Sherry. The strawberry blonde is the one who would go to the invites to get-togethers and other's houses, usually initiated midnight outings and the one who brought home the most one night stands.

Rainy underlines a sentence and scribbles down a few notes before Sherry asks, "did you ever find out where that note came from?" And at first, the other is confused, so Sherry elaborates. "That note in the bag from the video store. You said you think you might know where it came from. ...Do you?"

Rainy lies that she still isn't sure.

Sherry, of course, knew better. "Well...you wouldn't guess who _I_ met over a week ago at that store! Remember when you were still sick and my folks were leaving? Well, I saw _Peter_ there, working at the video store!" Sherry watches for Rainy's reaction, earning only a quick glance. "Silver lining? Speedy Gonzalez? Peter from our school? _Who we saw at the mall_?"

"I know who you're talking about."

There's a very brief pause. "I know." Suddenly, Sherry becomes serious. "You never mentioned it. That you saw him before, when we had last gone. Why?"

Rainy didn't have a good enough reason, and just shrugs.

Sherry breaths, "it's like you've gone back to acting like you were in high school again—you _try_ to act all nonchalant and emotionless and tough."

"I'm not _trying_ anything. I just speak my mind and am completely honest—-"

"-—Rainy..." Sherry interrupts. "You should go back and thank him." Then Rainy's face scrunches up as she begins to ask _"why"_ when Sherry continues: "I never bought you those soups. He's the one who's been leaving them here for you." Sherry sees that Rainy is still confused. "I don't know why...also, I _may or may not_ have let it slip out where we live and that you didn't believe you were sick." Sherry bares her teeth in a guilty grimace.

* * *

Straightforward, abrasive, stubborn: those may be things that come to mind about Rainy Capulet; tender, commiserative, and doting may be the _least_ that come to mind. Sometimes, her coworkers wonder about her, because she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve and her first defense mechanism is hyper-rationality and denial of personal yearning.

This also means feelings, and especially the domination of her _pride_.

That's why Rainy is thinking of so many curses as she stands in front of the glass door to this rental store again a day later. She looks over her shoulders, grumbles again, her lilac shirt sliding off one shoulder. Sometimes she wonders how her friend is so _devious_...

Sherry's excuse was a grocery trip, "needing to restock after her parents' visit." Rainy was dragged along because she had been bugging Sherry in the past about when to return this video and Sherry wasn't having it if she returned it herself for another that Rainy didn't approve. At least before coming, Rainy guzzled down a dose of DayQuil. She sniffs, sneezes.

The cool air blows the short curls from Rainy's forehead as she walks inside. She waddles, unsure, to the front desk. There's a different woman working there today, she sees, and adjusts the small bag hanging from her shoulder.

Along with _abrasive_ , Rainy has been called _steely_ and compared to ice due to her stolid exterior. It's all a defense mechanism.

When Rainy gets to the check in/out counter, the woman behind it can already tell that she's in a rush. Rainy slides the carbon video case across the dark navy blue counter, states that she's here for a return. The employee _does_ give her a questionable stare. Rainy digs through her bag to retrieve her drivers license and membership card. "I'm kind of in a rush."

The employee sucks her bottom lip. "Yes ma'am." Her name-tag reads _Madison_. Rainy thinks she's probably in her early twenties.

The process is completed in less than a minute. She's shocked, commenting that the transition took much longer last time. Madison tells that it isn't supposed to, and asks if Rainy remembered who had been working at the register so they could be disciplined accordingly.

Rainy wets her lips. "It was... It was...some guy wi-with gray hair...I, um..."

"Oh, Hirsch. Yeah, sorry, he's kinda old, so we—-"

She corrects that the employee had been younger. "I think he was the, uh, th-the manager?"

Madison's eyes light up. "Oh, Pete!" Her smile diminishes. "That's weird. There must have been a technical difficulty. That doesn't usually happen. I apologize for that inconvenience, ma'am."

"Yeah," Rainy mumbles, " _technical difficulties_."

"What was that? Ma'am?"

"Nothing."

Rainy is handed a receipt and she's asked the routine question if that is all she would need today. Tentatively, Rainy dares herself and asks in an unsure tone, "do you..." Takes a breath... "Does the manager happen to be in? Be working, right now?" She bites her lip as the young woman looks at Rainy a beat too long, thinking.

"Actually yes. I think so. If you'd like, I can go see if he's not on—-"

"Yes, yes, uh, would you?"

And the young woman finishes putting the video back in the system and hurries off down the tall shelves of movies. Rainy taps the counter, cursing herself and Sherry under breath, wondering why she hadn't just put her foot down more firmly to stay home. She coughs. She contemplates, jumping to scenarios, ones of her being booted out and perhaps banned from the store. She worries. A hand rakes through her hair, gets stuck in a curl. She uses the band around her wrist to tie her hair into a ponytail.

It feels far too long when someone finally returns from the back of the store—and it isn't the young woman, Rainy was partially hoping. As soon as she and Peter's eyes lock, Rainy freezes again. Her breath catches in her throat and his steps falter again. Her gaze diverges to the carpet near her feet. He shuffles awkwardly, several feet away, and hesitates. She twists the cheap ring around her middle finger.

"Can...I help you, miss?" He swallows. He doesn't look her straight in the eye, something she's partially grateful for, and focuses at a point just above her head. "I was told that you needed assistance, right?"

Rainy folds her arms. Then, summoning a surge of confidence, she lifts her chin, brushes stray strands back over her shoulder. She doesn't quite meet his line of sight. "Sherry—-ah—-hm... Sherry told me about the soup."

And he looks guilty, like he's been caught in a lie—she's surprised she remembers the look so well. He tries to deny it at first, stumbling over his words.

"Sherry told me that when she returned the movie those weeks ago, she saw you. I also know that you're literally the _only_ explanation for cans materializing on our doorstep with there being _no_ evidence of someone putting it there."

"I..." He appears clueless at first, then shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rainy squints. His eyes dart to the side, and off in one of the high corners is a security camera. She understood now. Looking back at him, he's grinning sheepishly. "You didn't leave leave Campbell's soup—-"

"I bring soup. But I...I rang the doorbell, yes, and I was there when Sherry answered..."

"Oh." She understood. "Okay..." Her hands clasp and she knows he's watching her, an illusion of calm with his fingers shoved inside his pockets. "Well, Sherry told me that it'd be best if I come and _thank you_ for that."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. So..." She inhales. "Thank you."

A hint of a tiny smirk grows on his face. That obviously appeared hard for her to say and he enjoyed it. A brief silence passes before he asks, "is that it?"

Rainy's face contorts into confusion. "...What—-what do you mean _i_ _s that it_?"

He doesn't answer right away, looking her over as she frowns and tightens her arms across her chest. He smirks. "Nothing, nothing..."

She raises a brow.

He shifts his weight. "Say, is that all you came here for?" And he begins to mock her. "You cared about me that much that you came all this way just to say sorry? I'm touched, Ms. Capulet." He holds a hand to his chest for emphasis and sarcasm.

The woman relaxes at his joke. "Of course not. This is a movie rental store, isn't it? I'm here for another movie. And you just happen to be head of this place, I assume that you know about every single one in here?" It was a question but not really, one that he answers _"something like that"_ anyway. "And I have plans despite coming all the way here." She moves forward, breezing past him, chin held high to hide her unsteady nerves.

"Oh, _really_? Shocking." He spins around, trailing after her. "Say, if ever you—-I'm just _offering_ —-but if you ever _need_ a good recommendation..." He scratches his head, pauses.

Rainy's immediate response would be a sharp _"no,"_ but she thinks first. "Is that so?"

"I mean, _yeah_. I do _work_ here, you know. For some time, actually, uh..." He rubs the back of his neck, head still bowed as he follows her into the horror section. "Besides that last film you rented was _horrible_."

"Oh, you remember that?" She's smirking slightly.

He pauses. A grunt is his reply.

She stops in front of _Alien_ on videocassette. "Which would you say is a better pick? Is it something better than..." She picks up that one.

"Ugh, ew! Put that down!" His nose wrinkles and she chuckles under her breath about him never having liked scary films. Unprepared, Peter brisks forward, motioning her to follow. They come to the action/suspense selection; he scoops up three films expertly. "This," and he hands one to her, "is quality watching."

Rainy raises a brow, amused. She tells that she'll consider them. She sniffs; her nose a tinge pink.

He rocks back on his heels as she reads the summary on the back of one video case. She tells that she remembers when his hair was longer, when he used to put it in small ponytails and buns. She asks about that black Letterman jacket, the one with the tigers stitched on—her favorite one. He wonders who had given her the ring on her hand, a heavy feeling setting in his stomach—she had herself, she answers, from a kiosk in a mall.

Check-out is _much_ quicker this time, maybe because there isn't a need to stall this time, maybe because Madison is watching. But Peter bags the movies and waves in parting. Before Rainy leaves, she calls that she she got the note "found" in her bag last time. Peter only grins wider and waves, wishing her to get well soon.

The movie isn't played until two days later. Rainy was ordered to attend several conferences and handed two more fat folders of paperwork, and she downs two Advils before proceeding. For an entire day and night, Sherry disappears. It became routine that the night of the second day either would try to contact one another to let the other know she is doing fine. Rainy didn't have to, Sherry returning with a long torn strip from her left ankle up to her thigh in her pantyhose. Apparently, Sherry's "chumminess" with her boss had risen to uncomfortable terrain. She misses work the following day.

The night Rainy tries to play the videocassette, Sherry wouldn't stop asking questions—starting from asking if Rainy has felt any bad mojo around her, to how much she trusts her gut feeling, to about that note found last time they rented a film. Again, Rainy deflects the topic. Instead, Sherry asks whether she spoke with Peter again, and if she is alright. Rainy asks if Sherry will be looking for another job soon.

They get through half of the movie before falling asleep on the living room floor.

Rainy is proceeded again by Calvin Morris and two lawyers from her firm lose their case; Sherry skips a second day of work before slinking back and being told first thing by the receptionist that her boss wishes to have a word with her—all this before Rainy returns the video. This time, Peter is out, having had to call out that day. And she almost grows reluctant to leave it there instead of handing it to him herself. But she doesn't, of course.

It's another two weeks before they see each other again. By now, Rainy has gone on that third coffee date with Calvin.

This time hey meet, it's at a grocery store.

There's a sale on muscadine grapes, and seasonal heirloom tomatoes, and Granny Smith apples. The air is fragranced by Italian parsley, mangoes, and there's a barrel full of salted shelled pistachio nuts near the cheese aisle, and Rainy is swallowing down a sample of Boarshead cold cut roast beef. A small white framed chalkboard advertises ten percent off bread and brie. At the exit door, Rainy scrambles for the ring of keys somewhere in her purse, arms full with bulbous paper brown grocery bags. A mother and two sons hurry by. Rainy's hair is done up in a messy bun and she's dressed as if just coming from work. A breeze blows, and a can of Albacore tuna falls through the bottom of one bag and rolls away down the sidewalk, the rest of her purchases from that bag following suit seconds after.

An elderly couple witnesses and tisks as they enter the supermarket without helping.

Rainy only huffs, cursing under breath. She knew she shouldn't have come, only going shopping as a frustration outlet, and that she should have just headed home and torn up the unread magazines piled beside the trashcan. Rainy sets her surviving brown bag down as she kneels in her heels to scavenge what isn't broken or haven't rolled away, all the while groaning, knees scraping the concrete. A young woman who looks to be either seventeen or twenty-two offers to help. And Rainy grimaces, stuffing three peaches in the remaining bag to her right. The young woman rushes inside for a new bag to replace the broken one. Two high school students rush inside, the youngest giggling and pointing at the unfortunate brunette. The adolescent runs before she could flip him off. As she closes what remains of a box of cashews, she hears another bystander running up.

"It's fine. I got this," Rainy huffs, pushing a stray curl from her eyes. And she sees sneakers. And jeans, a small stitched tear along the bottom seam. She doesn't look up, far too embarrassed. "I said _I'm fine,_ " she repeats as they squat down beside her. She snatches a now-bruised tomato from their grasp, hands large and pale, a bandage wrapped around the pinkie finger. When speaking, the person's voice is palliative, baritone, and solicitous.

"You aren't going to eat that are you?"

She huffs, ready to say some biting remark about how he _needs to mind his own goddamn business_ and proceed to strut away with the remainder of her purchases—

Peter is handing her her lost can of tuna that had rolled away. Rainy pauses, hand still pushing her hair back. He pauses as well when realizing, and Rainy can read the familiar tightness in his jaw and narrowing glare and accusation of "you!" forming on his lips. And she expects him to continue on with a credibly hurtful reply, she almost _wants_ him to—to giggle at her or shake his head in pity as well. After all, that's what he always would have done, and she deserves it. So, Rainy is quite surprised that he slides the can inside her bag when she doesn't take it, and reaches forward to recover what's left of her groceries. She tells him to stop, that he doesn't have to do this.

"It's fine. I got it."

Rainy bites the inside of her cheek, puzzled.

The young woman returns, two large brown paper bags blowing in the air. She and Peter help double-bag the first and equally partition the purchases. The young woman waves in parting when they finish. Rainy forces a convincing grin, turning to see Peter waving with a more genuine smile. Rainy's jaw is offset. " _You_ —!" She cuts off. Her mind blanks. "You..." And he's staring back as she tries to think of words to nail on the end of her allegation. "You," she stands with her bags, "you didn't have to do that." Her lips set in a frown.

He scuffs a shoe, shifting his weight. His chin raises. "I know." His hands find his pockets. Peter shrugs. "I was on break, and your tuna kinda rolled into my _foot_ so..."

"Oh," she mumbles, jiggling the weight in her arms. She forgot how tall he was, and sees that he's still in the video store uniform—a simple t-shirt under that same vest. Her eyes diverge down. "Oh. Well...thanks, for that I, guess."

He nods politely, and she walks into the parking lot. A hand rubs the back of his neck then outstretches as she's halfway across the street. His lips part; hand lowers and finger points, and he _almost_ raises it as he _almost_ calls out. But of course he doesn't, and Rainy climbs behind the wheel of Sherry's convertible.

Peter returns to the video store next door with his fists in his pockets, his lunch break over. Inside, a child has managed to knock over a display of snacks, chocolate and caramel popcorn strewn across the carpet. Madison is already on it and the parents scolding the child loudly.

* * *

In the following month, neither Rainy nor Sherry make a suggested visit for another film.

The days pass by normally like it always does, like it always has. Sherry would flop down over Rainy's lap if she's busy after coming home from work and kicking off her shoes. And eighty-two percent of the time, the redhead would sprawl and with her hands in the air, declaring herself _officially done_ with men and suggest the bottle of Chardonnay sitting in the cabinet, all which would be followed by her avow that she needs to get laid and proposes an outing that Friday night to which Rainy would either accept or decline depending on her workload.

Sometimes Sherry would ask about the progress with Calvin—"you know he's likely has a full bank account, right?" And is then replied by, "you know his brain is the size of a walnut and I had to explain what guacamole is? He thought it was some skin care product that people eat!"

More often, Sherry would ask about Peter. Usually Rainy would go quiet, either not sure what to respond or having nothing to say or avoiding the question entirely. Ninety-five percent of the time it's answered by sarcasm.

Sherry hurries to work and sits at a desk with a telephone glued to her ear, dodging advances from her boss. When she gets home, the two would either make spaghetti or order pizza, and schedule a yoga class that weekend—the one with the _cute instructor_ whom Sherry "could stare at his ass all day as he _helps me_ with downward dog."

Across town, Peter turns in his hands a business card nabbed from the Xavier school. After his leg healed, he doesn't choose to return—not immediately, choosing to help out his family instead. He flops back on his mattress iin the basement, his bank receipt falling from his fingers. He partially misses his apartment in France. And one night, his twin's words play in his head, the ones she scolded when he was crippled and couldn't run, when he finally got over his self-deprecating and culpability, common sense finally coming in. He begins to wonder if he should go show up at Rainy's doorstep in person this time because he's ready to close on this story and chapter of his, about _her_. He lies and he wonders when the two women from his high school would return because he's dug up an old photograph of all of them but it now has been pushed back behind a row of books and instruction manuals.

* * *

It's after he gets off work early one Thursday afternoon. Rainy's off that day, and she takes the invitation for a milkshake five blocks away because he _insists_ that they are _the best_. She's in a simple sundress and leaning beside him against the rough, worn bricks of the small side-road restaurant; she's begun dabbling in the perfumes accumulated since last Christmas and is sprayed inside her wrists. And she wonders if he remembers the tattoo on the back of her shoulder, and that she once promised to tattoo over the little design he once drew in pen beside it. She never did, and it vanished in time.

Rainy lowers her red straw from her lips, her appetite gone. She doesn't know how to string the words together an empathetic, coherent way, so she fiddles with the straw. Both ordered vanilla. Hers is already melting.

Beside her, Peter's in a simple black t-shirt, his rough denim jeans clearly have a history. He rocks back on his heels and comments about the cloudless sky—and that's how it starts.

Talk was at a minimum today which left an open opportunity to dabble in the past—and because what Mr. Addams said once, about _"opening your damn mouth before everything turns depressing."_ Though that was dialogue about pre-adolescent Sherry lying about over-feeding the pet. So, when Peter comments about the sky, which literally _no one_ gives a damn about, Rainy's already suspecting because he doesn't look at her when he speaks. So she beats him to it.

"I know—-just so you know _that_ —-I—-I—-"

"Don't hurt yourself."

Her eyes shoot daggers. Yes, she knows they've already gone over their seperation back on the bench outside the mall over three months ago with an official breakup, but there's so much _remorse_ Rainy feels that she isn't sure what to do with, because he's always so _expressive_ and right now he _isn't_ _—-_

"I made a mistake. All those years ago..."

"It's in the past," he repeats, just like that night. "Don't worry about it. It's over." He's emptied half of his jumbo-sized cup in seconds.

She doesn't speak, her straw making a hollow whistle as it moves against the plastic top. _Over?_

He invites her for a possible outing with a few friends, because they're both _friends_ , right? And wrap arms around each other in good spirits, and _smile_.

Of course she could only decline.

* * *

Sherry returns to the video store exactly a month later and dressed no better than last time, looking practically in her pajamas. Pietro glances over her head and behind her shoulder as she talks, to which she smirks and tells that she's come alone.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to."

She asks to be directed to the newest arrivals. "Preferably a romantic comedy," she specifies.

He shows with a huff and slump of shoulders. Sherry holds out an arm as he leaves. " _Wait_ , wait..." She bites her lip. "I, uh," she thinks, can't quite come u with an excuse good enough. "I forgot my membership card."

"They can probably find it in the computer system."

Sherry purses her lips. Her neck rolls, pushing back her hair. "Say, Peter. How've you been? I know our last run-in was... _eventful_."

He frowns. "Fine... Um, I need to go back to the register—-"

"Rainy's been thinking about you." Sherry catches him falter, even for a split second.

He blinks, fingers flexing. "And?"

It's her turn to spin, perplexed. " _And_?! _And_ you should come over some time. I'm sure she'd like to see you again."

He shakes his head. He doesn't believe her partially, but also knowing that that wasn't the best idea.

"Aw come _on_." She picks a random video in range. "Me too though. It'll be like old times; fun...like handsome cowboy here!" The background of the movie's cover has an explosion in the distance, and the male protagonist in possession of a fine pistol, albeit he's shirtless.

Peter doesn't crack a grin, smirk, or anything. Calmly, he tells, "that's a sex film."

She pauses, eyes widening. Then attempting to recover from her shock, she teasingly waves it in the air. "So...ever made one of these~?"

"Sherry..."

* * *

But the stubborn mule Sherry is, she convinces her friend to _not wait up on returning that film_ next time because she's gotten _held up_ at a guest's house. In other words, Sherry is still at the place of the man she went home with the night before. Over the phone, her voice has a hint of morning scratch, and she grins, breezing over his generosity and her possible hopes. She hangs up with a quick whisper into the receiver that _"he's returning with breakfast! My god, did I hit the jackpot?"  
_

While Rainy is glad for her friend's potential catch, she can't help but stare at the telephone after the other line disconnects because there's a voice somewhere in her head that says this is all a ploy. But Sherry prides herself on her _perfect record_ , and Rainy also knows that a majority of it is to avoid a mark on her membership account. Begrudgingly, Rainy fishes the tape from the VCR to return, and the keys from Sherry's bedroom, and the cadmium green convertible in the outside lot.

The drive there is stiff and suspenseful. Rainy constantly flexes her fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at the single VHS case in the passenger seat, and never hitting any red lights, so the arrival is far sooner than she preferred. All the while walking through the glass door and to the front counter, she's wishing under her breath—for _what_? Well...

She makes the return without an incident. But _of course_ it would be too good to be true, and as she's shoving her drivers license back inside her clutch, the employee behind the counter waves for someone's attention behind Rainy. And _of course_ it had been Peter walking by. And she sucks in a breath, purses her lips, the employee, obviously new, reporting that Rainy's movie isn't being accepted back into the system. Peter asks what password was entered, arm draped across the counter. He's answered with the wrong one. Rainy slides her bag up her shoulder, turning for the door.

He looks over, this time his hand darts out. "Do you need anything? Not going to check out another movie this time?"

Rainy sees that bags have started forming under his eyes, and she wonders if she had gotten him sick. She declines his offer, that she's only needed to return it for Sherry.

"She still adamant about being on time, huh?"

"Oh, _very_. Except for work, ironically..."

Pause.

His tongue slides across his bottom lip. He tries again. "Say, you _sure_ you don't want a new one? We actually got a few good ones in recently. Nothing like that _National Lampoon_ disgrace Sherry wanted like last time." He's referring to the oh-so-terrible film chosen when Sherry's parents visited.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Not anytime soon." He smirks.

With a shrug, Peter motions for her to follow, going into detail about what film choices would be best and why. Rainy watches his hands gesture as he becomes immersed in the topic. She bites her lip, prohibiting a smile.

And that's how it starts. In the next several visits, Rainy would return a movie for another that Peter would recommend. He was determined to show her _quality cinema_. During so, details would slip out, some things about life, or careers, or schooling, a difficult day at work, etcetra. Each time she would rent a video, and about a week later would exchange it for another. This went on for some time; for weeks this went on. Eventually the small talk opened to actual conversation, and the invisible wall disintegrates.

"I was...pretty much homeless from eighteen to around the time I was twenty. By twenty-one I had my own place somewhere in the East and was the _big_ _shot_ of the town," he boasts. "And there was this...this nice old lady nearby who made the _best_ canelés! That's a pastry. And there were some kind of event or party every other night."

"Where was this?"

"Marseille, France. Yup, don't need a passport. Planes are too cramped anyway and take far too long."

For months this went on. Once learning his schedule, at times she would arrive around his break to walk to the nearest food joint which is usually the burger drive-thru across the street, and they would talk. The shy smiles of greeting developed to soothing hand strokes, the mundane converse about the weather to shit talking passerby's.

"After being shipped to my mother's side of the family down South, I decided to stay down there and finish school. I just didn't want to go back... Graduated, got a nice little first job with an ass of a boss. I had to quit after putting on the crawl display that he is a sleazoid pimp with a—-"

" _With a_ what?" He asks after a bite of his triple bacon cheeseburger, all the way. He's begun being completely clean shaven, she notices a month ago.

"With a Napoleon complex and a limp noodle dick the size of his pinkie finger."

"Amazing."

They would talk and there's a kind of familiarity to it, a kind of nostalgia about it. It kind of makes Rainy burgeon with latent remorse. He tells what happens at the Xavier school and why he had been in a leg cast, while shoving three french fries in his mouth. Once, Rainy asks if he's contacted those from the school again. He answers no. She watches a parent place their child in the seat of a shopping cart. She doesn't ask about Magneto.

For months this goes on, and there's a sort of warm, elicit vehemence that blooms, that she feels and denies, suppressing.

Twice, Rainy turns down invitations from Calvin from work and her fellow female employees begin to wonder, asking her around the restroom sinks. Rainy's excuse is that "something came up" or, "she ran into an old friend of hers" or, "she's late for a meeting." All which were easy excuses reiterated again and again, and oddly, Calvin believes every one despite the sullen frown that he grows each time. Rainy visits the rental shop often, planning her trip accordingly to avoid taunts and talk, glaring the younger persons behind the counter. Madison thinks the woman has cat eyes.

It continues like this: Rainy comes in for a rental, there's a nice conversation, and sometimes she'll leave with one or two films, and Peter checks off an imaginary list. Sometimes she doesn't return for several weeks. Musing, Rainy knows he's not the same as he was years ago, the bohemian young man with the wide, cocky smirk, blatant arrogance and wild, windblown hair and scuffed up Nike's. Not exactly. She knows this; and she too has obviously changed. They _both_ know, even though sometimes they would hug and she would swear that she feels his hands press harder against her, briefly, almost unnoticeably; sometimes it lasts a second too long and he'd burry his nose in her hair and she trying to remember the scent on his jacket. And almost always there's a hesitation afterwards, of memories flickering briefly before they both ruin the moment—they always ruins it—with a change of subject or parting. Rainy bites her lip and he would overtly fidgets, both try to rebuild that spark.

Sherry doesn't catch on right away, fortunately, and it's when there's a phone call asking for her that Sherry answers just as Rainy walks home with yet another rental.

One of Sherry's brows rise appointedly, phone receiver cradled between her cheek and shoulder. She speaks into the phone, politely lying to Calvin that Rainy Capulet isn't here right now. Can I take a message. And _We need to talk_ , she mouths.

* * *

Saturday, Rainy walks in, VHS in hand, purposely near the end of his shift she knows he's scheduled for. She's running late. Just like routine, she taps the small bell and returns it to whoever runs to behind the counter. And Peter walks in, licking the last residue of food off his fingers, his eyes almost light up when catching sight of her against the counter. Rainy sucks her bottom lip, chewing until red.

His greeting is hurried, hand sliding down her arm as he passes to shrug off his company vest. Gooseflesh explode on her skin.

Rainy points, answering, "the usual." Her grin is forced, he reads.

It's unexpected when she starts for the door instead of getting a movie back to exchange. His chin lifts, pointing. "What's up? Not going to rent one this time?"

Her shoulders steel, sag. She sighs. It turns out that her VCR is jammed. "It broke. Or, _something_ this weekend. I dunno, I was gone when it happened. But I made an appointment at Radio Shack for the people to take a look at it."

He asks when is the appointment. Sometime next week, she answers.

"That's going to take too long." Palms press flat against the counter, his mouth pressing into a line, and "why don't I take a look at it?" comes out before it rations out in his mind. His smile is forced and nervous as he presses his knuckles together. "If you want, I could fix it in a flash?" She declines, but he's quite adamant, telling that he's off for the day anyway and holding out a finger for her to wait as he hurries to the back of the store. "It'll just take a minute, Rain. I _promise_?"

She listens. She pauses; her jaw slacks and she's suddenly hyper-aware of the bag digging into her shoulder and the brush, almost _irritation_ of the fabric of her flowing blouse, and the sudden goosebumps at the sudden reminiscence in the nickname—the one so long since being held in affection—and the effervescent of nostalgia in her stomach is getting bad again, and she stops, wanting to decline.

His hopeful grin vanishes.

Rainy wants to decline the offer, thinking it's the smarter choice. Her shoulders square as she watches him silently, subtly deflate. Rainy purses her lip, smoothing the drying chapstick. She reluctantly accepts.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Sherry returns from lunch, the receptionist tells that her boss wishes to talk with her _privately_ , and gives that suspicious quirk of her brow that is obviously a deprecative glance. Sherry forces a smile in return, muttering that the woman's eyeglass cord looks like a grandmother's, teases her hair and steels herself before approaching the door.

Sherry shuffles into her boss's raw sienna-colored office. The wall behind his desk is practically all window; the walls East and West are thin wood, decorated with framed family barbecue photos and business trip attendees shaking hands and mounted degrees hanging on wooden plaques. It's very masculine. It's very him. Sherry doesn't favor it.

Her boss sits with fingers laced atop the smooth desktop—callused, and bits of cigarette ash spot the whites of the undersides of his fingernails. He gives Sherry a polite smile that she doesn't return. His polyester suit likely smells of light tobacco and cheap cologne; whenever he passes by or leans in close to her ear she becomes nauseous, smelling the spear mint gum that barely masks his musk, she leans away a bit. She holds in the reflex of wrinkling her nose.

He's grinning, and his greeting has a sexual undertone. There's a greedy show of teeth, the lick of his bottom lip that's _disgusting_ , the click and purr of interest in his voice. Sherry's upper lip curls. She's instructed to close the door behind her and take a seat, but she speaks that she's more comfortable with the door open. His grin wavers.

* * *

Rainy bites her lip as she speeds through an intersection. She probably should have thought about this more, of inviting Peter over—she probably should have analyzed the possibilities and _rationalized_ it all first. Perhaps, she should have waited for Sherry to return _first_. Or, she should have called Wanda again—done something _smart_ —because right now she's insecure and nervous at the fact that this is another bad idea again taking place... She feels like a school girl again, with cotton candy sweet daydreams and rope-tight anxiety clawing at her throat, with memories twinkling behind her eyes like a long-locked treasure chest that's struggling to be pried open, and she barely gives out an answer when he asks her about the gas mileage. Her hands tighten and loosen against the leather of the steering wheel. Peter's looking out the window and makes a joke about something corny that she doesn't fully catch, checking to veer into another lane.

The drive back from the video store to her apartment is uptight and tedious filled with tension.

Peter's fingers drum on the hand-rest beneath the door handle to the beat of the music coming from the radio, and she allows him to fiddle with the tuner when a slow song begins to play. He babbles about one thing or another, doing most of the small-talking since he can't stand the quiet. By now, Rainy has gotten used to it again over the months they've began talking again. He finds a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment—hers—and sports them remorselessly. Rainy advises him not to break anything in the car or "Sherry will skin you alive."

He only chuckles. Rainy's stomach knots.

She hadn't wanted to trust him at first, remembering his sticky fingers. But then again, she also hadn't wanted to continue even _seeing_ him, knowing their swain history.

The windows are down and her knuckles squeeze around the leather of the steering wheel as every other traffic light they manage to catch turns red. Then Peter chimes up again, proposing a small game at the traffic light. It's to see how many questions can each get right until they reach her place—of the name of a movie by vague descriptions, or a song only by two lines of the chorus, or celebrities by movie roles, or one's favorite color, food, favorite gift, etc. And Rainy thinks it's harmless enough. She doesn't take her eyes away from the road as Peter wins most of the questions about movies.

"Well of _course_ , because you work there. That's cheating and this category doesn't count!"

"Yes it does!"

Peter asks how old Sherry's car is, and if she's still likes The Beatles song that is playing on the radio. Rainy hesitates, then answers as she makes a right turn. "It's fine. It's that one of the songs played that one winter at the skate rink, and then at an aunt's wedding."

He goes silent. He thinks he stares at her for a moment too long before watching her move the stick-shift into another gear.

Rainy offers to roll up the window, catching him staring from the corner of her eye. He mumbles something and doesn't look at her again until the car parks.

Her apartment building is a tall, multi-floor brick building with smokey-red shutters and vines growing up from beds overlooked in maintenance. Peter's neck cranes back as he finds its roof. Rainy takes the lead forward; his pulse jumps in his throat for a quick millisecond, and so he sighs, shakes his head once to clear it.

"Since you've been here so many times already I suppose this route was all very boring for you," she calls over her shoulder, climbing the stairs.

"Not really..." He debates whether to tell that her shirt has risen up in the back, no longer tucked inside her skirt.

She lives on the fifth floor. There's a small welcoming mat right inside. Sherry bought it from a flea market last year, she tells. He hums in answer. A neighbor's dog stole the mat before and they've never gotten it back.

Peter stands at the doorway, not really knowing what to do with himself and she disappears inside—he's always been on the outside of her place and never set foot inside, though had always wondered about it before—and then it hits him that this is only the second time he's been in a residence of hers, and the thought sends a brief wave of exhilaration down his abdomen like a kid in delight, like a teen sneaking against the rules, the copper coil in his stomach like a young boy about to kiss for the first time.

But no, that's happened already too. _Why is this happening?_

Peter studies the little mirrors and wall decor along the wall and the small unplugged lamp on the table-stand beside the closed front door. Rainy calls from further inside, and he follows after wiping his feet. Directed by her voice, she coaxes him to find the living room where she is kneeling to look inside the VCR player on top of the box-shaped television.

"This thing ate three of my videocassettes," she informs. Without looking up, she knows that he's watching her, leaning against the door-frame. Straightening her posture, she gives the machine a light tap. Her heels are kicked off and by the wall, and she smooths down the back of her skirt. "We just got it a year ago. I don't understand why it's like this..."

"Well maybe that's because you're not a _professional_." His thumb jabs at his chest.

" _Professional_? Oh really?" She looks his way, raising an eyebrow.

And he grins. "We established that already back in the car. Keep up, Rain." He abruptly stops, that nickname slipping out again. But he shakes it off and continues with a taunt. "You don't have the magic touch. Now scoot. Lemme see."

"Here then. Be my guest. _Prove it_ , Maximoff."

His grin grows, and pushing up his sleeves to his elbows, he comes closer and bumps her hip to move her over. She watches him examine the VCR, pushing open the little flap-door and blowing on the gears inside. He asks to verify how old the player is and tries a trick that _"always works, one hundred percent of the time,"_ as he claims. He blows inside the VCR again. Neither works.

"You have a screwdriver? And a video you don't mind messing up?" He untangles the cords behind the television to sit the VCR in front of him on the carpeted floor. Rainy disappears down a hallway so he takes that moment to examine his surroundings. There are a few photographs taken, likely of companions and coworkers. Three framed awards sits alone on a shelf proudly, which he guesses has to belong to Rainy. On the walls hangs artwork bought from local fairs and from small bookstores wedged in the rented corner of a building between a coffee shop and a record store. Two pictures, he finds, are of Sherry and her family, one having Rainy amiss the group photograph. There are none of Rainy's own parents. The two semi-filled mugs sitting on the coffee table will leave behind residue rings when they're removed, and the couch far behind him appears worn and cozy.

And Peter's head drops to his sneakers; they're already beginning to wear, he notes. There's a painted canvas on the back wall, a dimly lit hanging photo of Rainy blowing out the candles of cake, surrounded by strangers. The television is not cheap, that much he can tell, and the surrounding furniture has to have been purchased by someone with a generous bank account. And suddenly he's insecure again just like he's gone back those years ago when she invited him over to her parents' house. Here is this girl—this _woman_ who's obviously more preferable, more clever, and more prosperous and he's just—Peter's just—he's only—he just _can't_ —

Peter zips back to his position on the floor before Rainy rounds the corner with a toolbox, and retrieves a random screwdriver. He gives her a look which she questions.

"Just...surprised, that is all." She asks _"what for?"_ and so he jokes, "that it isn't a foot tall manual you pulled out instead."

She rolls her eyes. Two minutes later she returns again with a black VHS tape. She only answers, "don't ask."

Of course he's curious.

"It's not mine and it isn't really going to be missed. Just...don't watch it, ok?"

"Well that doesn't sound cryptic at all, and make someone _not_ want to see it." He turns the tape over. It's completely blank, nothing written in pencil or remains of a torn label. "And how do you expect me to be able to check if it's working?"

She glances to the open blinds. She shrugs.

This is one of her _quirks_ —Rainy has a permanent habit of being quite cryptic with her word choices, and if one doesn't have a sharp, rapid intellect, her sentences soon start taking a cynical turn as her interconnection weakens and she grows dissatisfied.

Squatting beside him, she asks what he thinks is wrong with the VCR, watching him lift the little door again and then starts unscrewing the bottom. "Not sure. Just... Give me like...fifteen minutes, okay."

" _Have_ you ever done this before?"

He fiddles with the player, then looks to her. He portrays mild offense. "Um, _yes_. Duh. I work with these all the time." He fishes out a different screwdriver that fits the screws. Rainy raises an eyebrow again, not thoroughly convinced. " _Gosh_ , Rainy. No faith in me already?"

"I didn't—-" She stops to backtrack. "Just—-just don't break it, ok?"

He salutes.

Then she stands and Peter glances, watching her smooth down her skirt again. Her hand trails across the wall as she disappears around the small corner to the kitchen. From his angle, he can't see her enter but only hears her voice. "Do you want anything? Given how you're a guest, I should at least try to be hospitable. You want a drink? Food? A hit? An Advil?"

"Why do you still speak so frank like that?"

"Why do you not? And keep dodging around bushes for a needless number of times. Being honest cuts back time and stress."

He doesn't have an immediate answer, so it ends there and he observes her reach high in the cabinets for something. She swings her hips to close an open drawer, sashaying to the pantry.

Peter bites his lip. His hands slip, a screw flying across the living room floor. Maybe six seconds pass then he's already overthinking again. He hears the pantry door close. Rainy offers a beverage, calling from inside the kitchen. "Come see if you want anything." In a small breeze he's behind her in the doorway, and he _almost_ jumps when she wraps a hand around his wrist and _pulls_ him near enough to see inside the fridge. He leans with his chin resting on her shoulder. She has to clear her throat before continuing. "There's juice, soda, lemonade...um, there's _water_."

"Coke," he answers, his chin digging into her collarbone as he talks. It tickles.

He worries if this is too much, if he's going too fast again. But they are friends now, time has rewound to before there were anything being platonic, just as she's said. They're friends but he still has to remind himself to loosen and distress and to take the rose-colored lenses off because she's grown— _they're_ grown, and she has an entire life built without him so there's really no way—there's no real _reason_ for him to be—

They're just _friends_.

This is _normal_.

Rainy gives his cheek two love taps. "Sherry doesn't like Coke," she giggles.

He sighs, and his nose wrinkles. "What kind of human being doesn't drink Coke?!"

"Sherry—-"

"Sherry needs to get her priorities straight."

"-—Only buys Pepsi."

"Ew." He lifts his chin, looks her in the eye, thoroughly disgusted. "Do _you_ drink Coke?"

Rainy has to lean back a little to see his face fully. "I do...but I ran out of it about two weeks ago."

His nose scrunches again and he grumbles, pouts. Rainy lets out an unintentional giggle, his chin nudging her shoulder again and hair tickling her neck.

"What else you want? Orange juice?"

"No."

"Peach tea—-"

"No."

"You didn't even hear."

"I don't like peach drinks. So, no."

Rainy rolls her eyes. " _Anything_ you want? Lemonade? Or—-"

"No...!"

"Would you rather sparkling wine imported from Egypt? Or the salt of my tears? There's so many others ready right on hand!"

"Now you're just being sarcastic."

"We literally have nothing else, Peter."

"Nothing?"

"This isn't a grocery store."

He pouts, digging his chin into her shoulder and emitting a whine. "I think I can make a smoothie," she offers, knowing it's a wasted suggestion.

He just looks at her again. "I'm hungry."

"We don't have food," she lies, knowing how he could eat them out of house and home. "We have chardonnay in the pantry."

"You are killing me, babe."

Peter realizes his mistake as soon as he speaks. This isn't the first time this has happened but it's _worse_ because there's no way to cover it up this time. It's not like it's over lunch again and he could chalk it off to the woman passing by, or the couple pet-calling beside them.

The air grows cold and he becomes rigid behind her and he's so, so _terrified_ to even move an inch because he knows that he's likely enraged her or offended her or worse. And he's ready to bolt out the door. The small kitchen goes silent for a total four seconds. Her grip tightens around the fridge's door handle before loosening.

Peter wets his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "Um..." He swallows and begins to slowly lift from nuzzling her neck. "That—-that didn't... Rain, I didn't—- _dammit!_ —-I meant—-" He sucks in his lips, tripping up _again_ at calling her another nickname. Is it too soon, he frets. It's too early, definitely. And he begins to panic and apologize.

The apartment quiets.

"You know, there's this cranberry and apple juice mix that's my current favorite," her voice cuts through his thoughts and the silence like a lightening strike. "I want you to try it." She doesn't look at him, doesn't do anything but remains still like him. Peter doesn't quite know if that's a bad sign or not.

He voices that he'll hurry and get back to work but she reminds him about the drink.

His lip juts. He settles for lemonade instead. He zips back to the living room as she fills a tall clear glass. Then she pauses before taking it out to open that bottle of chardonnay and fill a tall, regular glass and downs it. She jumps before the last swallow when hearing a loud wail from the television that's interrupted by static and then a collection of moans, and Peter's strained hiss of obscenities. The television is _loud_. Rainy wipes the drops of wine that spilled in her jump.

When she returns, he's stabbing at the television's buttons, frantically lowering the volume and is red-faced and guilty. The tape that had been playing on the television, which Peter played in the VCR, is a copy of the mother of Sherry's ex giving birth; the ex gave it to her once. He had recorded his own sex tape on top of the original footage.

"I told you not to play it."

* * *

Peter pries off a cog and a small fan from the discombobulated VCR. The television and the VCR is turned off again. Right now, there is a litter of plastic hinges and metal knots around him on a small yellow hand-towel out on the patio, she sees. The fifteen minutes he promised having come and gone, and he's moved from the living room floor to the small concrete patio outside.

"Do you really know what you're doing?" Her voice nears as she returns from somewhere in the back of the apartment, from the bathroom, he thinks.

"Yes." He's short and truculent. "Jesus, Rainy. You'd think that after all this time you should know that I—-" He works a rusted screw loose. "-— _Got_...this..." He grunts. Something snaps and he freezes. He's afraid to look up in case she's heard. But stealing a glance, he sees that she's leaving for the small kitchen again and for that glass of wine mentioned earlier. She's changed into a robe.

Sherry bursts through the front door two and a half minutes later. She had been invited on a second date by her one-night-stand who had made her breakfast in bed, and turning down the dinner that her boss wanted her to attend instead.

Peter finds the snapped metal piece and puts it off to the side. Groaning with frustration, the VCR had been almost fixed before the piece broke. His hands rush atop his head, cheeks puffing. Inside, he's cursing himself.

The living room television plays a sitcom.

When Rainy returns with a full wine glass, he slides the broken piece behind his back to hide it. She calls and asks if he's alright, having gone quiet since conversation stopped in the kitchen over drinks. He answers with a grumbled "yes." It's a lie.

The television show goes on commercial break. The house phone rings, and in the back, Sherry gives an unnecessary announcement about it. From the open patio door, Peter watches Rainy pick up the corded phone just as it nears it's last ring. And then he watches as her face falls, her grow visibly agitated, scolding whomever is on the reviewing end about something he couldn't hear. He wipes his hands on the knees of his jeans, a green swirling of emotion arising in his stomach not for the first time. Just before Rainy hangs up, she pulls the phone from her ear to scold the caller; Peter hears a faint deep, masculine rumble. His breathing pauses and his heart wrings like a wet towel, and Rainy hangs up mid-sentence. He waits until she disappears and then reappears from the kitchen with a large bag of chips.

He's turned back to the VCR in his lap when she reaches for the tv remote. "Is that your boyfriend?"

And Rainy almost sneers. " _No_. Only a pesky weasel from the firm I work in."

He nods, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth and the knot in his chest relaxes.

But she has her arms crossed, leaning against the back of the countertop, glass of chardonnay forgotten an arm's length down. "Why? Jealous?" She eats two chips.

"No, I'm not jealous. _Curious_. Like...you know...do you _like_ him? ...Have you gone on dates with him? Is he _that_ kind of guy?"

Again, she asks why he wants to know.

"Because...we're..." He pauses, which to her appears as only a beat of a second. "We're friends. Just...I'm not _worried_ or anything—just—just nosy."

"Friends..." She tastes the word and it isn't pleasurable. "Right, right. ...Well if you _must_ know, he's just an annoyance and insignificant colleague of mine."

"That again?" He's frowning.

" _That_?" The bag of chips crinkle in her hands.

"That's what you always say about guys you like." He's starting to glare.

She mirrors it, surprised by his allegation and his _scoff_. "That—-! That is _false_! I do not say that with every one."

" _Really_? I highly doubt that."

She's offended. _Really? They are starting this now?_

"Of course you do!" He rolls his shoulders, and he holds up one finger. "What _one_ have you _never_ spoken that with? Name _one_. Out of the many I bet you've had. You wouldn't be able to—-"

"Shut up—-I never said that with _you_!"

A laugh track plays for the television show. The living space goes quiet. Peter looks down and Rainy's face is burning. She's offended and— _furious_ , she definitely furious and— _really?_ She doesn't know how to respond to his allegation—although she isn't really _surprised_ by them—in fact, she expected for there to be more—she always does, after a "little" impulsive venting session shared _months_ ago.

Rainy has a habit of thinking the worst of things. A habit that started when she was young. She never really got over it.

She sets her hands on her hips, raises one to her cheek. Wipes forcefully at the crumbs on her lips, feels her thought beginning to grow sore from emotion. A commercial about shaving razors play on the tv screen. No one knows quite how long that silence passes, though it couldn't be more than a handful of minutes. Rainy eventually states that she has to make a phone call. And Peter's heart drops, regretting his outburst. Then before he fully knows, his hand is out again to stop her, and this time he calls for her to "wait!"

" _Why_?" Her fingers dig into the thin aluminum of the bag.

And he pauses, more surprised that she listens, but he panics and his mind goes blank. "I, uh, um..."

Rainy looks at him expectantly.

"Um." His fingers dance. He breaths. His pulse races. "I can't get any of those chips?" A forced smile appears. To his luck, Rainy only waits a beat, and hands over the JUMBO FAMILY SIZE bag. He ends up only eating two handfuls, listening to her dial.

Ten minutes later, Sherry flies out the front door. Thirteen more pass of silence between the two.

* * *

"What exactly is wrong with it?" Rainy suddenly comes over and squats after locking the front door back.

Peter sighs. "There's the recording safety switch, the playback was dirty, and idler wheel that's messing up and needs to be replaced. And it needed to be lubricated."

He's been at this for a total of twenty minutes—seventeen which was of secretly staring off into space—and she can tell that he's fed up. She watches his brows draw together and his lip juts as he talks, gesturing to the now-reconstructed VCR in front of him. She nods as she listens, not knowing much of what he is naming. She asks what are the parts' functions exactly. So, Peter scratches his scalp, rolls his shoulders as he leans back on his hands and tells.

A light breeze passes. He's calming, she can tell. Silently she hopes that outburst is now behind him. He's twirling a screwdriver between his fingers. He begins to relax, and it's when the wind blows a piece of hair directly in her mouth does he give a small snort of amusement.

"You also know that this is well past fifteen minutes."

He glares. "Well better than the _three days_ that crap-shop would have done. And it's free. You're welcome." She glares playfully, and he's wearing a toothy grin. He continues. "Admit it. You saved a lot with me; you're grateful. Plus I'm quicker than they'll ever be." His eyebrows waggle.

"I don't think that's something to be proud about." She's smiling despite.

His expression wipes clean when the innuendo hits. Shock flashing before becoming completely blank.

"Don't give me that look. You said it yourself."

He watches with mock disgust as she reaches across him to take a handful of chips. "Heartless."

"Yeah, well..." She chews. She's staring at the screwdriver turning between his hands, not seeing that he's staring her quite blatantly in the eyes. She bites her lip, and she thinks that if she were tilt her chin upward just _a little_ bit further...

" _Well_?" He doesn't tag on, for once. His legs are outstretched, one foot rapidly tapping the air.

She brings her knees up to her chest. She swallows the mouthful of chips. "You _love_ it," and she raises her chin to meet his eyes. "I mean, you wouldn't be here if you found me _completely_ repulsing."

"Are you sure about that?" His teeth show, smiling.

She hums...and Rainy looks away, suddenly unable to hold his stare. Mainly because it's that wave of nostalgia that washes over her and something that feels the air with heavy familiarity that she becomes...uncomfortable—wary—fearful—

Rainy becomes insecure, and so she looks away.

She draws her knees closer to her chest, and stares at the VCR at his feet. A crisp breeze blows this time. "Are you finished now? Does it work?"

Peter scratches the top of his head again and takes a quick, subject-changing inhale. He's about to lie, she can tell, or stretch the truth. "Almost. I think." Then he stands to carry the VHS player back to the living room to test it out.

Well, they found out that it definitely was not fixed—the tape jams the first time, and the second time it quite literally _destroys_ the film of the test tape, it flying out the VCR like transparent black ribbons into the air.

Peter ejects the tape and is speeding out her front door, babbling about not touching the VCR until he gets back. And if she heard him right, he said he was gone to go _read_? The door closes on it's own. She stares at the empty air, a gust of wind and the swinging front door slowing closing the only indicators of his departure. The television plays. The wind blows from the open door, goosebumps exploding across her skin, and her stomach knots, swishes and sways and _twists_ and she feels uncomfortable, like she needs to sit down, like there's something wishing to eat it's way from her insides out.

Rainy hugs the destroyed video tape tighter to her chest, feeling very much like a sixteen year old again.

* * *

Peter zooms to the nearest library. It takes him less than ten seconds to locate the manuals for electronics, and then the ones pertaining to Rainy's VCR model in her living room. He finds three manuals and spends the next five minutes reading them thoroughly, zooming back and forth when needing to double check.

The shower is running in one of the bathrooms, he hears. Peter works quickly to be finished when Rainy returns.

* * *

Rainy's eyes squeeze close as the shower water hits her face, her scalp, runs through her curls. She opens her mouth, sighs, swallows down the rising distress. Using her towel hanging nearby, she wipes her eyes dry before lathering shampoo between her hands.

She thinks she hears the door open. Glancing at the bathroom door, she remembers that she's locked it, having left the front door unlocked for Peter to return.

She hopes that had been him who is opening the door. It wouldn't be the first time they have been robbed.

* * *

Peter fixes the video player by the time Rainy finishes showering. He's returned to sitting on the patio floor at an angle to watch the TV. He's just emptied the bag of chips when she returns, dressed, towel wrapped around her hair. She's barefoot entering the living, and wearing a look of skepticism and carrying a bat. He gives her a questioning look that rolls off her shoulders. Peter doesn't tell what he had been doing at the library, and presents the working VCR with a bit of a _pep_ in his step. He's smiling, cocksure, as he's showing what he's tweaked and fixed, the three screwdrivers are back in the toolbox, and he—stops.

Rainy disposes of the bat in the corner of the kitchen doorway. She's dressed in only a large shirt and pajama shorts, toweling her dark corkscrew hair. Peter frowns, swallows. He holds up a movie. An ungraceful ask to be invited longer spills out.

Rainy pauses. Her eyes are narrow and _bright_ like they used to be, and he can see the gears turning in her head. "You didn't steal that, did you?"

He's shocked. "What? _No_! Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

She steps aside. He rolls his eyes.

The VCR is back atop her television. Peter rubs his hands together and breaths before going to push it inside the player. She returns to toweling her curls dry, asks if he's hungry now, opening the refrigerator door. "We have hotdogs, popcorn...rotisserie chicken, grapes—-"

"I thought you didn't have any food."

"I lied," she responds nonchalantly.

* * *

The film is an action-something about aliens coming to Earth and infecting citizens, turning some into superpowered beings.

It's an hour later. The patio door is closed and locked. The city lights play across the white apartment walls, the television screen the only other source of light in the otherwise empty apartment. Rainy is cross-legged on shelving room sofa, the bowl of popcorn in her lap. Her shoulder falls onto Peter's and she jerks away, closeness like this an un-discussed territory. There are the small barely popped kernels and burned bits that are left in the bowl they shared. On screen, a man screams after climbing out of a vat of toxic waste, glowing. Peter stretches, yawns, spreads his arms across the back of the sofa like he's _actually_ going to try that century-old move.

He saw her jump away, and he had seen her rubbing her arms under her house coat. So when he succeeds in _"stretching"_ without a comment, he grips her shoulder and _pulls_ her to his side, forever the stubborn one.

Rainy sighs more out of resistance. She opens her mouth to complain—Peter shushes her. She feels him begin to rub her shoulder so she subtly adjusts her position to _nonchalantly_ sit closer—for _warmth_ , of course, because the A/C is on and it's chilly outside. Because how long he had the patio door open had let all that cold air inside—as so goes the excuse she gives.

The movie is watched in further silence. Every once in a while his hand would slide down her arm, and Rainy's skin would explode, an electric jolt of adrenaline and finger-curling warmth would pool inside her. Once he leans close to her ear to ask a question in a whisper as if they're really at a movie theater, and she laughs at him, and he stops, lingers closer, she feels his breath on her neck and she inhales. His grip on her side tightens. He only picks out a popcorn from between her curls.

But even later Rainy finds her mind drifting when a couple on screen kissing in a bedroom. Drifting, her mind flashes and she squeezes her eyes closed, cursing herself. It is then that Peter glances and catches a murmur under her breath, asks if he should change the movie. On screen, the woman crawls into her boyfriend's lap; Rainy tells that she's fine. Peter frowns, disbelieving. And when his voice hardens at he edges, calling her name, and Rainy looks up in response, he stops and swallows. It feels like time drags out as he remembers their close proximity—and they're supposed to be friends—he licks his bottom lip, drags out a stalling "um"—but they're supposed to be _friends_ —and Rainy can't help but bite her lip, to tilt her chin up just a tiny further, to remember, to imagine—

Peter asks where the bathroom is instead.

Rainy sighs in relief, gestures down the hallway.

Inside, he splashes water on his face, points a disapproving finger at his reflection. He speaks accusations, harsh words and reminders to himself.

It's maybe five minutes when he returns. This time, Rainy keeps her space, the bowl of popcorn between them until Peter grabs it for himself, engrossed in the film.

The character on screen that climbed out of the toxins is shown beginning to melt, his flesh melting to a puddle off camera—an effects trick due to colored and molded wax on a mannequin skeleton.

Peter's hand unconsciously goes to grab another handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap, but finds only kernels instead.

She whispers like they are in a movie theater. "You ate all the popcorn. Again."

" _Again_?" He looks away from the screen.

Rainy only holds his stare for only seconds. "Nothing." She watches the mannequin's eyeballs fall out on screen. "I thought you didn't like scary movies."

Peter looks back forward, sits straighter, clears his throat. "Yeah... Well... This one isn't so scary." Just then a jump-scare appears on screen, and Rainy feels him jolt.

She raises a disagreeing eyebrow.

He flexes his shoulders. "Yeah whatever," he disregards.

The alien character appears on screen again. This time, he is being interrogated by a group of humans who had taken him hostage. One of the humans are complaining that they have an ability to fly but can't quite control it. The human is about to explain how afraid others are when Peter nudges Rainy, and in a _terrible_ whispering voice, "I actually saw a guy who could fly. He had metal wings. It was wicked—-"

She still has her attention to the TV. "Where was this?"

He pauses, shifts. "Out... Back—back then when I had that _one thing_ —-"

"That thing in the place far off a two years ago? Alright."

He pouts. She doesn't sound convinced in the slightest on his story. "Hey!"

"What?"

"I'm serious!"

"I never indicated that you weren't."

The character who had melted on screen is being discussed. Other characters are becoming agitated about the wasting time. And it's then, three minutes later that he nudges Rainy again. Leans to her ear and a chill shoots down her spine.

"You know that's how people thought mutants came about."

" _Aliens_? I don't think that's right..."

"No, toxic wastes. People jumped to conclusions before figuring out that we were all caused by the bombs."

She's turned her attention now. "Oh." Pauses. "Did you learn that in school?" She remembers that their ending in grade school years likely taught different curriculum.

Peter hesitates. "No, actually I—-" Wipes his mouth. "-—I overheard it first."

 _From Erik Lehnsher and Charles Xavier_ , he doesn't tell.

"Oh." She brings her knees to her chest. She has a feeling to not ask further.

On screen, some of the film characters are afraid. Others are open to their new, adjusted lives. The alien continues to be held as a trump card and a last resort.

"Question, Rain—- _Rainy_. Uh, I know..." He bites his bottom lip, is looking away. "I know that some people are _terrifie_ —-frighten—- _scared_ of mutants, and..." His jaw offsets. He pauses for a millisecond. He continues. "And I'm just wondering, if, if—and I _know_ it's been a long time—but if _you've_ ever been scared of me too...?"

He doesn't look her way because he can feel her gaze _burning_ into his neck, his cheek, his _being_ and he can't tell or decide if that is necessarily a _bad_ thing completely or if it's just himself again. And he wants to ask her— _needs_ to ask—but he just _can't_ and he fears that he doesn't know what she'll say he's frightened of what she could and he knows that he's probably overthinking, over-analyzing, overreacting—

Her reply is cut and crisp and _calm_. "No." She sees him begin to visibly relax. "No, I've never been afraid of you, Peter." She feels like she wants to say more but bites her tongue, sucking on her bottom lip instead. "Of course not, I won't be. I told you his before." She remembers that they've had a similar conversation years back, so she can't understand why he would _ask_... She shuffles in her seat. "I would never be."

His arm is relaxed again and is across her shoulders; she begins running her hands down his long sleeves.

"My mind hasn't changed since when you first asked me that." She rests her cheek on his upper bicep. "We were seventeen..." She's leaned into his, and her fingers work in his hair. "It had been in the beginning of summer. We had been juniors, I think... And we all had been so into Queen at the time." She chuckles. "I believe it was right before that President event...and...hmm... We hadn't been togeth—-was unsure because of family issues..."

"Oh...I forgot about that."

She smiles. "That's why you have me." Her hand brushes aside his bangs.

The movie characters speak. A nonchalant, approving smile is given, and Rainy stares. And stares. And stares. There's heat, haze apprehension that she shakes off, clearing her throat, and turning back to the television.

On screen, a man is complaining about his girlfriend's new powers and how their sex life has likely ended. One of the others effected reveal that the girlfriend was going to leave him anyway. Shocked, the boyfriend asks if this was true; her response is that he is to help them with one last issue first: vanquishing the villain. As attention is tuned back in, Rainy becomes engrossed in the action and plot. A hand reaches absentmindedly for the popcorn bowl as the protagonist sneaks around uncharted, dangerous territory, and Rainy doesn't register that she's only picking up scrapes of burned popcorn kernels until _after_ the jump scare on screen which Peter choreographed perfectly of tickling her neck in time to the thousands of spiders falling down the protagonist's neck.

He's cracks up at her reaction. Rainy pouts.

"I knew it! I told you that you're afraid of me," he manages to get out. Then, he begins laughing again about her "jumping ten feet in the air!"

Rainy shoves the empty bowl of popcorn at him.

The film's view has changed to some of the supporting characters planning the final attack. It's a few scenes later that Peter calms back down from his laughing.

Rainy feels the sudden shift in the couch, then the weight of him dropping his head to her shoulder. A faint, "damn," comes out almost as a sigh.

"What?"

"I never realized just how much of a scaredy cat you really are."

"Get off of me."

"Aw, come on. You know I'm only playing!"

"Get _off_ of me, Maximoff," she huffs, bouncing her shoulder.

"No." He sounds serious, so she stops, glares. "What if I don't want to?" He's secretly watching for a movement, a response, _something_ , but she continues glaring forward. So, he wraps an arm, pulling her to his side again. "Admit it. You like it!"

She stares back with a look that isn't _complete_ hatred, but her mouth and brows still frown. "Do not."

His expression wavers for that moment he isn't sure, and can't read her thoughts, and he begins to worry that he's majorly fucked up. His face falls. And before he can finish calling her name to ask, she's pushing off from the couch, scooping up the empty bowl to take to the kitchen.

"You sure you're not angry?"

She doesn't reply, only giving a look over her shoulder that he can't quite read. The sinking, cold hooks of discretion take hold. He grabs his chest, nervous, pulse quickening.

In the kitchen, Rainy throws a new popcorn bag in the microwave oven and slams the door closed. She's grumbling under her breath again when she hears the springs of the couch softly give and footsteps paid across the carpet and tile. Peter pocket his head around the corner of the doorway.

"You sure you're not angry?"

She pauses from rinsing the popcorn bowl in the sink, already thrown the kernels out. He appears honestly concerned.

She sighs, "I'm not angry."

"But you're doing that thing again—" He gestures to his face, wrinkles his nose. "—With your nose when you're angry." He enters, immediately shoving his hands inside his pants pockets.

"What thing with my nose?"

"That thing when you do this..." He makes a show of wrinkling his nose, and then begins snorting like a pig.

"Peter!" She reaches for a towel on the oven handle to dry the bowl.

He chuckles. Peter moves his hip, sidling up beside her. She frowns, turning back to the sink.

"Not joking, but are you really mad?"

She silently dries the bowl, watches the timer on the microwave.

He wraps his arms around her waist from behind, rests his forehead on her shoulder, and mumbling into her robe. "I was _playing_ , Rain— _Rainy_." He freezes in horror, head jerking up. This time she notices, pauses. "Sorry, I messed—"

"You can call me Rain. Nobody else does besides Sherry." She doesn't turn around.

His mouth forms a deep, upsetting backwards U.

She pats his hair. "Peter, you're ok. You worry too much. We're," allows a small smile to show, "we're fine." Threads her fingers through his hair.

He moans, "no, we're not." And she makes a noise of confusion, so he has to backtrack, think of an excuse, and cover his ass. "Because you're—I pissed you off. Again. Didn't I?" He rubs his face, upset with himself.

 _'Oh,'_ she thinks.

And her shoulders fall. "I'm not angry, I just..." The faucet is turned off. "When you asked that—about whether I was _scared_ of you..." Her nose does wrinkle, in fact. "I'm just upset about that."

Peter hesitates, thinks he shouldn't ask. "Why? You said you've gave the same answer before, so—"

"It's not that! It's..." Turning around to stand toe to toe, her head tilts as she talks. "It's just upsetting because I thought—I thought you knew how I feel about you, and I thought that _we_ —"

There's hints of a grin growing on his face. "And how is it that you feel about me...?"

Rainy shoots a playfully stern look. "Don't. Don't play with me. I'm serious."

From that, his grin grows into a smile. "Aww, does somebody have a crush~"

She's baffled. "Peter, I'm trying to be _serious_!"

She's backed against the counter, bowl and towel still in hand. His looming over her, hands reaching for her shoulders. "And so am I."

She pauses from drying the bowl.

On screen, a confrontation between the protagonist and the villain is about to happen. Peter calls her name but she glances over her shoulder instead.

He's taller than her, has always been, so when her hands stop drying and she looks up, catches him visibly swallow as his eyes are hopeful, wide, and she blinks, tightens her grip on the towel.

And suddenly, she's hyperaware again—of the speeding of her pulse again, of the tightness of her robe and the underwire of her bra, the wetness of the towel in her hands, and their closeness as he takes a small step closer and the counter digging in her back and her mouth is open, dry. The air is heavy and suffocating, and goosebumps explode under his touch as one of his hands slide from her shoulder down to her elbow.

"Rain?"

She blinks once, twice, shakes her head. "Um. Yeah?"

His head jerks toward the microwave, pointing. "The popcorn's done."

 _'Oh.'_

She looks down to the bowl, bites her lip. His touch disappears as he zips to the microwave. The kitchen is filled with buttery aroma when he opens the bag. Rainy watches him refill the bowl, asks where her spices are to begin creating some type of concoction, priding that it would be better than the regular butter flavor. Elbow beside the popcorn bowl, she watches him pull out cheyenne and salt and cheddar.

She muses, asks why doesn't he just become a cook. He shrugs, shakes the idea off.

"I'm sorry this isn't as great as it could be, but the movie is almost over," he apologizes, speeding back to the cabinet for more seasoning. It lasts for maybe five seconds more that he does this, including taste testing. Once finally finished, Rainy blinks, impressed. "Now..." He holds two popcorn to her mouth for Rainy to try. But she hesitates.

It's eaten from his fingers, her moves slow and wary, eye contact unbroken. He's biting his lip.

She's surprised, she tells, and praises, smiles.

Peter chews on his bottom lip, speaks in a thick voice, muttering under his breath.

Her bright eyes crinkle as she spreads the towel along the side the sink. "You're blushing!"

He frowns, the cherry red of his ears spreading to his face, muttering a "yeah, whatever." Wipes his hands on the discarded towel. Then, he waits, watches, overthinks, hesitates. The timid question is repeated: "Are you sure you aren't mad?"

Rainy smiles, and it feels like her stomach is being tied in knots, like there's a warm, vibration in her chest and it tightens, constricts; she reaches to thread her fingers in his hair. "Of course not. Peter...?"

The television grows loud, the musical score increasing in tempo and pitch.

Rainy's smile wavers, shrinks. Their eye contact doesn't break. His left hand reaches for her arm again and glides from her elbow to her wrist that's against the counter edge, and she shutters violently. His other wraps around the wrist of hers that's still in his hair. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

From the living room, sounds of some kind of battle reach them.

His left palms moves from hers holding the edge of the counter to grip her waist, shuffling closer, and he focuses on the curve of her mouth.

Her lips have grown dry. Rainy takes an automatic move back. The edge of the countertop presses into her back. "Peter...?"

Time stops. Or rather, it slows, because something is different. It's different because the cotton-thick strain in the air is apparent and suffocating; it's unrecognized, unfamiliar, and craved, desperate. Rainy doesn't know what to do, seeing him move closer, and then he's similar to that bohemian young man he once was with the wide, cocky smirk, blatant arrogance and wild, windblown hair and scuffed up Nike's.

It's quick, breakneck.

Peter kisses her near the doorway of the room. It's firm and fierce, quick and impassive and sudden. In real time, it was a little over a second.

She's frozen, stiffening. His face scrunches up, brows are drawn together partially in desperation, partially in concentration, because she isn't moving and inwardly he begins to panic. He lets go of her wrist.

The lingering grip of his palm atop the fabric of the side of her robe loosens. A low-pitched rumble bubble up from inside his throat. The space between them, summer-hot and thick like molasses, gradually grows as he feebly begins to pull away. The buzzing inside her head is languid, blurry. He's waiting for her, slows, stops.

And he really is surprised when she leans in to kiss him back—with tongue, with hesitation, with intent. All the while, he wonders if he should push her away since he can't tell what he fucking wants—whether this is only wasteful, desperate longing or lust or reconciliation or because she's finally _here_ or, or, or—

But he keeps kissing her, because she tastes good and she feels good and he's never been a fucking saint, _ever_ , and he lifts her to sit on the edge of the counter. Her hand snake to the back of his neck, and her lips are smooth, full, nostalgic, and he just keeps fucking _kissing_ her. Her hand creeps towards his belt loop, and his fingers rise to brush the undersides of her breasts as his other hand maps the curve of her waist, the small of her back, and she's pulling him closer, thighs spreading, breath hitching, and his hold tightens, eyes squeezed shut, pulse thundering, and then—

The final musical number plays on screen in the living room, a loud orchestra of trumpets and violins, and it startles her out of her reverie—her haze—and she jerks back.

It's probably for the best.

"Rainy," he breaths, and she drops her hand from his neck to the countertop, her nails drum once.

"Pietro," she manages to reply, and he's tilting her chin up, cupping her jaw, meeting her eyes.

His pupils are dilated.

Her thighs instinctively clench, rubbing against tight, _annoying_ denim.

And he kisses her again, slowly at first, like there's something he's trying to acquire, like they had done almost a year ago back on the bench outside the mall. Back when they had ended all this—when they thought they ended it all. Her fingers curl around the neckline of his shirt, yanking to mold against him. Kisses like he's not quite sure how to, but then she makes a sound—soft and tentative, thin and quavering and needy—and his hands move from her face to her shoulders to her back and she's being pulled forward, and her knees are bracketing his hips and his fingers are tracing the curve of her waist and their tongues are curling, twining, the catch of their lips mimicking the roll of her hips, and she shudders, the sensation as liquid as it is instinctive, and the lace of her bra is abrasive where it's suddenly too tight on her skin and his palms are scorching where they travel up her sides, and a whine gets stuck in the back of her throat as she rocks against him, as he draws her robe open, as her breasts press against his chest and he works the knot of the fuzzy, thick string, her murmuring, no, panting—

"Never thought...we'd do this."

He's breathing into her mouth, her touch heated, mouth desperate, and he mutters some kind of reply in agreement, she thinks. Her hands are in his hair and he's untying her robe and the noise of the television is starting to annoy her, but his palms find her thighs and gives a light squeeze and she releases a high sound form within her chest—

He stops. Freezes.

" _Wait_!"

And it's like a bucket of fucking ice water being poured down her back, it is, because she abruptly feels like the cooling embers at the bottom of a fire pit as he wrenches himself away and out of his arms. She looses her balance on the edge of the countertop and sways backwards. The fire has been doused, banked, suffocated.

Maybe this is for the best...

"What's wrong?" she asks, mouth swollen and pulsing, colored a hint of pink. "Pietro?"

And Rainy can only stare at him, stare, and stare and wonder how it's possible that this whole situation—her robe open and shirt bunched halfway over her bra, and his sweat on her lips, and a borderline electrifying heat coiled like a wire trap in the pit of her gut—it seems like the culmination of something, like an emotional transaction that's had years and years of buildup, how the singular grains of sand sifted through an hourglass to shape this meeting, this moment; because it seems like she's finally getting everything she's ever wanted, and they both have _finally_ been working out, putting it all behind them, healing old bruises—

Like she assumed again without the consulting of someone else, their emotions taking a backseat.

Her hand covers her mouth, and she feels as ashamed as she is guilty of creating this rift.

Reality drifts back. The sounds of the ending credits reach them. The clock on the wall ticks, and Peter has backed to the opposite counter of the kitchen, eyes wide. His fingertips linger on his open mouth. Rainy grips the fabric of her robe, struggles to meet his gaze, and when she does there's a monumental shift in the earth beneath their feet, of ocean wave of realization crashing.

Pietro shakes his head.

Rainy gulps down a rising surge of nausea. Hysteria. Regret.

His eyes dart, panicked.

He runs.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: So the last time this was updated was March 23, 2017... wow.**_

 _ **As it's going to be a new year come tomorrow, and this fic has yet to be completed as I've moved on to other things, and since I likely won't be able to write the final chapter but I don't like leaving things unfinished this fic's final "chapter" will be a bullet point list of what was planned to happen. This was also don't for Touch (which is supposed to be the universe that this fic is set in, and taking place in the past because it's the background to Pietro and Rainy's relationship) as well as the rest of the installments.**_

 ** _Please keep in mind that these are crudely made plot points. If there are any consistency errors, I apologize :)_**

* * *

● So after Pietro vanishes (by abruptly running out), Rainy is devastated, needing a few minutes for her brain to kick back on and to focus, and decide what to do. Though she's sorely upset, she decides that it's time for _her_ to act this time. Because she gave up on him at the influence of her father when they we're younger and that still stings—because their breaking up and distance that last for years and her not knowing whether he's dead or alive had been her fault, and because she doesn't want to lose him again, she jumps down from her counter, searches for her car keys and a pair of shoes, and leaves her apartment. It's dark outside. She isn't sure what time it is.

● When they were still young, there was a particular park on the side of town that had always seemed like _their_ hangout; it coincidently was where the majority of conversations and events happened that change their relationship. Or, it's a spot to go when she or he wanted quiet, and the other so happened to find them there. So, Rainy has a suspicion that he could have gone there.

● So she goes there in desperation. It's dark, empty, and quiet, the streetlights the only source beside her car headlights. She doesn't find him there, not immediately. When she does, he's slumped over in thought at the head of a slide. Using a spare page from a notepad in her glove compartment, she scribbles a note and leaves it on the bench beside him where he's sure to see when he stands; on it, she's written _'come home or you'll miss the movie'_ held down by a spare rock found. She leaves after that, not wanting to push him more than she should, urging him to come back when he isn't ready.

● Come the next day, Sherry is still gone. Pietro still hasn't returned, unlike what shed hoped. Filled with a mixture of sorrow and what feels like betrayal and a tad bit of infuriation, she drives back to the park because it's en route to the video store, doesn't find him there. And she's convincing herself that "it's not a big problem" but really she's growing pissed (which is really just sadness) and she sees that the note is still there on the bench, seemingly untouched. She's less pissed, and more so confused and frustrated. And thirty minutes later she storms into his job, demanding to see the manager to a wide-eyed, frightful employee. Rainy catches that her nametag reads _Madison_ , and that Rainy has spoken with her before. When Pietro emerges, chin leveled but unable to quite look Rainy in the eyes, she growls, "we need to talk," and has a hand on him, pulling him outside without another word or a protest. He goes along with it simply, his shift for the day about to end anyway. He doesn't give an excuse or fight against her, which leaves her even more confused and fearful of hearing his side. But she'll be damned and regret it for eternity if she doesn't take this opportunity with newfound determination.

● Like she had been in her younger years, Rainy is not soft and she's straightforward. She slams thee note she'd written last night against his chest. She waits, and watches for his reaction as he stares, hesitantly takes it. Opens it. He's completely shocked. He looks back to her, confused, and she rolls her eyes.

● She tries against, asking if they could talk, and this time he knows exactly what she means. But he waits. Hesitates. Asks "why?" instead. She drags him a little further from the video store and away from any plausible eavesdroppers, and with tiny difficulty she apologizes (which in itself is a feat from her). Then she grabs him, his shirt in her fists, fearful that he would run off again, and tells that she isn letting go until he answers her, that she isn't going to let go like last time. His reaction is a quiet _WOW_.

● In her car, after he checks out for work, she admits that she's sorry, actually speaking the words "I'm sorry." He admits that he suspected she was—which is partially a sly joke referring to her earlier apology. But he too apologies for running off. and because neither favor the air that comes afterwards because it's too exposing and too _sappy_ , he begins teasing her about how she's " gone soft or something," and she's like "you want me to kick you out of the car?" He's like "no... I've... missed you," and she hadn't been expecting that, or the pure honesty behind. Due to nerves, she starts speeding. Pietro finds it amusing. Rainy says that he's being overdramatic (he's not). He laughs that, despite her speeding, they keep being stopped by red traffic lights.

"You know, if you wanted to get home so fast, you could just pull over," he snickers.

She looks at him confused.

He explains that he could run them faster to her home. As expected, she declines.

Most of their jibes back and forth pertain to the "running faster" comment, and it's all sexually charged. But the air changes. He's serious when he brings up the kiss from the day before, and wonders why, and then asks why she kept coming to the video store he works at store?

● So as soon as rainy parks, pietro gets the keys from her bag and speeds to the house, taking her with him, of course. But when they're finally inside, Rainy closes the door, leaning against it, and she's afraid again, tense, and doesn't know how to initiate whatever is to happen now. (It's a bit of pride, really, that's mixed in with the un-surety.) Pietro has always been the calmer of the two, and he chuckles about how there's no need for her to be so tense, to stop being so stubborn and to relax—because at this point, after he called Wanda and was given pep talk, he's all good with it, but Rainy hadn't had that from someone she's close to because she can't reveal to Sherry about being a mutant.

Pietro's laughter dies when Rainy doesn't act further. She answers his questions he asked in the car—about her repeatedly coming to his job, about the kiss, and _why_ , why had she gone along with it—and it's heartfelt and honest and uncharacteristically raw, and she has to sit on the couch. Because she needs to talk to someone, but knowing that they aren't as close as they had one years ago and she misses that, wants that, but they're still _close_ regardless.

● And on her couch, they are close. So they turn in each other's direction and realize this, and suddenly it's like they're unsure and hesitant like they're back in high school. They look at each other and have to turn away.

They talk, because this is the time for all thoughts and feelings to come out in the open. There's apologies, quiet and shy attempts of trying to tell that there's actual love between them but in the best way possible in their character, and the atmosphere grows heated and heavy and then reminiscent as memories are recollected—mostly funny ones, and then some about who they had been closer and high school sweethearts. This time, the night ends on a better note, and it's more intimate, more familiar and comfortable, and they fall asleep curled together (spooning) on the couch to late night television.

● Time skip to afternoon the next day. Sherry returns from work. But before going home, she decided to rent a movie which is just a reason to drop by and nosey out information about what had happened between Pietro and Rainy. She sees Pietro behind the counter with a day dreaming heavenly face. She asks if he's high, and he gives a lame excuse that he's "high on love". Sherry rolls her eyes, a little more suspicious. She doesn't rent a video. Then she comes home and sees Rainy cooking in the kitchen, and she too is uncharacteristically happy. And then Sherry is _sure_ and is able to confirm her suspicions that the two have made up, and even rekindled their relationship. She finds it amusing that they're blushing like high schoolers again.

● There was a planned smut at the end of this fic. It was to happen after a time skip, and when Sherry had been out with her parents who are visiting. Her parents are staying at the hotel but are insisting they come over to have dinner. They are unaware that Pietro is over visiting Rainy, and the two had expected to have the apartment to themselves for a few more hours.

Which is why no one, _no one_ anticipated catching the two in a very exposing and compromising position with the door left open, catching Rainy's bare hips moving at a rushed, passionate motion above a very heated, panting man within the blankets of her bed. And they had been in the mood and unaware of their audience, as he runs his hands up her back, fingering her bra clasps, and she pulling him up for a kiss. They only find out, are made to come to a heart freezing _halt_ by a clearing throat in the doorway of Rainy's open bedroom door.

There's a pause.

And then the ice-cold fear sets in.

And everyone just _dies!_

But it would be funny

Sherry has to pull her parents away, her mother's jaw open and no one can look Sherry's father in the eye. Not even Rainy can do anything but wish for a quick death, because she's known Sherry and her parents for years, have grown rather close to them, and now _this_.

Even after the doorway is empty again and there's an awkward, uncomfortable silence that's filled the place, Pietro is frozen, petrified. Rainy whispered angrily, "how come you didn't notice anything!? You have superhuman reflexes and didn't react when you heard the keys opening the door!?"

He snaps back, "well, i was a bit _busy!_ "

Rainy sighs. "Geez...can't even be fast when you need to be."

And he's offended. "You should be _flattered_."

Later, Sherry is like... " _Oh my god_ WHYYYY?" And she wants to get all grossed out but Rainy shoots a _are you kidding_ look, and shoots back, "you do it all the time so why are you saying this now? 😒 Don't be a hypocrite," and rolls her eyes.

Caught, Sherry pitifully goes, "I know. 😢"

(It's headcanon that Rainy would top, at least in this situation. Though she had been reluctant, still feeling unsure and not wanting to ruin their relationship that's restarted on much better terms. Pietro doesn't press, says something along the line about _only doing what she was ready to do_. Also, there's a likely chance that maybe if Pietro topped, it would be too fast and too soon for Rainy. But if she topped, it would be at her pace and she would have time to think it through. Plus, it's been a while, maybe he's learned to take time with this 👀

And Pietro is sacrificing a lot for that torture so she recognizes that and it kinda helps her get a bit more closure. Cause he's willing to wait for her...which is something he wouldn't do for anyone else.)

* * *

 ** _A/N: and that had been the end of the planned fic_**


End file.
